Zero One Arc: Book III: Night Wind
by The Manwell
Summary: The pilots and their families think that the worst is behind them, that peace starts now. But they will soon realize that their greatest challenge is yet to come from a source no one could have anticipated. Angst, language, implied citrus. (W.I.P.)
1. Chapter One: Sojourn

**Night Wind**

Sequel to _Mission One_

A Gundam Wing fan fiction by The Manwell

**Greetings once again, faithful readers!**

_Night Wind_ is a direct sequel to _Mission One_ and, since you've labored through my previous works of this arc, I'll dispense with the WARNINGS because, let's face it, you know what sort of emotional roller coaster to expect from me by now. This work is _definitely_ PG-13 for many of the reasons _Mission One_ is as well.

_Night Wind_ is primarily a drama with a good share of angst and – if I can manage it – bit of humor here and there. As a side note: this work diverges in many ways from _The Perfect Soldier_ and _Mission One_, but give it a chance. Please? Have I failed thus far to deliver a tale worth reading? I promise not to make you want to kill yourself at the end. Besides, you're going to _have to_ read it if you want to know what happens between Heero and Duo! ...Yes, I know that I am evil, but thank you for thinking so anyway.

Credits: I am ruthlessly barrowing not only the Gundam Wing universe for the creation of this story but also a few random excerpts (for the titles of each individual "Part") from "Dracula: A Chamber Musical" which was performed in Stratford, Ontario in 1999.

...ooo...

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter One: Sojourn _**

_A.C. 204, October 5_

**No one knows** the name of the quiet young man who visits the ridge every evening to watch the sunset. No one knows what he thinks of as the sun slowly sinks into the lush landscape of the distant mountains. No one has even bothered to ascertain if he can speak the local dialect.

With a glimpse of his unsmiling lips and intent gaze, it's obvious he's not a tourist. And this place sees many, many tourists. No, this young man is a traveler sojourning here to perhaps catch his breath or to perhaps allow his breath to catch up with him.

He appears to require little and says even less. His thoughts, it seems, are more than enough entertainment for him. He is self-sufficient. Efficient. Proficient in his silence. Boringly so. Most people do not spare him more than a glance. They give him a wide berth and go on about their evening, savoring the scent of the Spanish autumn or studying the way the rosy light changes the shade of their lover's eyes. No one takes the time to really observe him in the gathering darkness. No one makes the effort to watch him absorb the sight of the dying day. And as the infinite indigo of night begins to bleed into the west, no one sees the way his expression softens and lips curve as he softly exhales the only word he's said all day:

"Duo..."

...ooo...

**Preventer Section Chief** Chang Wufei frowns at the information he'd just received, information he'll have to divide up amongst the six teams under his command in the form of various assignments.

The promotion to section chief hadn't been a surprise. He'd been in line for a command position for the last fourteen months. The twinge of disappointment at knowing others will be doing the investigative work while he coordinates their efforts from the relative safety of a desk, however, _is_ rather unexpected.

But the information he's looking at is even more so.

He studies the carefully constructed report, taking note of every detail. And there are many details. Details the Preventers could not have researched this thoroughly. Details the Preventers could not have _legally_ acquired themselves. Details that could only have come from an outside source.

That, in and of itself, is not surprising. But what _is_ suspicious about this is that well over half of the recommendations for new assignments follow this same vein. And work and attention to detail in all of them are frighteningly consistent. In addition, all of the reports tend to focus on corporate structures financing operations and activities detrimental to the United Earth Sphere.

If Wufei were to assume that all of the information he's received in this manner is coming from one source... If nearly half of the assignments are a direct result of one informant's information, then...

_How long will it be before our "friend" begins to offer us faulty leads? How long before the Preventers becomes a tool for the powerful? How long before our neutrality vanishes and we become part of someone else's agenda? Just another player in a game of chess?_

And how long after that will the result be war?

Wufei returns his attention to the data before him and resigns himself to organizing the assignments that will be required in order to investigate everything thoroughly. And he keeps his suspicions to himself.

But in his own mind, Wufei has given himself an assignment. He will attempt to ascertain the likelihood that there is a private agenda at work within the Preventers and if so identify the individual or individuals responsible.

Preventer Section Chief Chang Wufei doesn't know who is pulling Une's strings or why, but he _will_ find out.

...ooo...

**"Yuy here. **If you don't have good news, hang up now."

Heero smiles. "Hm."

On the other end of the line, he hears his sister pause. "Heero," she says flatly. And, somehow, he knows she's grinning.

"Yokaze," he finally greets. "Are you busy?"

She chuckles. "That's irrelevant and you know it."

He says, "I didn't expect you to still be there."

With a sigh, she tells him, "Ah, it seems there's plenty of work to keep me busy."

Heero makes a small sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. He'd been not a little surprised to learn that shortly after returning to space his sister and her lover had promptly turned their lives upside-down. Yokaze had resigned from NW and Trowa had stopped teaching at the academy. Instead, the two of them had, with a little help from Quatre, started their own not-for-profit investigation service. Operating out of their new offices in the L4 Preventers' HQ, the pair of them work to locate not only missing children but also the missing families of orphans. The children from C555 had been among their first clients. Heero asks how she's coming on finding homes for all of them and he can hear her grin.

"Most excellent," she informs him. "Trowa just found an aunt and uncle on Earth who are ecstatic about taking their niece in. You might even remember her. She certainly remembers you."

Heero's brows rise.

Yokaze continues, sensing his inquiry even without the benefit of a vid screen. "You told her you were taking her away from C555. _Very_ far away."

A corner of his mouth lifts. He does remember that brave little girl. She'd had a rather formidable stare for one so young. "Hm. I'm happy for her. And how is Jaspien?"

"I hear he just started school."

"And?"

"He hates it."

Heero snorts.

"He got into a fight on his first day and beat the snot out of some rich kid."

He grins at the vivid imagery.

"We were so proud."

"We?" Heero asks.

"Duo and I, of course."

Heero's smile dims at the sound of that familiar name. And he can tell by the lingering pause on the other end of the line that his sister has detected his change in mood. He attempts to conceal his unease with a scolding. "Violence is not the answer, Yokaze," he says gruffly.

"Well... maybe not," she concedes, "but it's better exercise than name-calling."

He sighs.

"Oh, come on. I'm not _that_ bad of an influence on him. Duo's _much_ worse..."

"_How_ much worse?" Heero demands, wondering if he dares assume she's merely joking around.

There's yet another pause during which he's relatively sure she shrugs. "Call him up and interrogate him if you're so concerned."

Heero's eyes slide closed for a moment at the suggestion. "You know I can't do that."

"Actually, no. I don't," she counters. "He misses you. Jaspien misses you. Give the boys a call, Yuy."

He says nothing, allowing his silence to signal the end of this particular conversation.

"Or, you could just come to Lisbon and see them for Halloween."

Frowning, he mutters, "What?"

"Quatre's renting a—" She snickers. "—_villa_ for the last week of October plus a bit. Everyone's going to be there and I'm pretty sure that if you _don't_ show up, Wufei will personally make your life a living hell."

"Why?"

Her tone subtly changes and Heero finds himself listening to the voice of a soldier. "I can't tell you over an un-secured line. Reestablish contact in fourteen days to receive the coordinates."

Immediately, he acquiesces. "Acknowledged."

Only after the word has left his mouth does he realize his sister had just taken advantage of his training to get him to agree to go. He scowls. For a moment he actually cares that she'd played off of his conditioning, but then he become conscious of how much he must be missed if she feels the need to coerce him.

"Oh, and Heero?"

He makes an attempt at being angry with her. "Yeah?"

She ignores his disgruntled growl. "Make sure you bring a costume."

He glares.

Yokaze glares back. "You don't even have to wear it. The costume's for me."

Heero frowns. "You can't find one on your own?"

"We all drew names," she informs him. "You got mine so you have to pick out my costume."

"Who has my name?" Heero asks, already beginning to formulate an iron-clad excuse for missing the party in Lisbon.

"I have no idea. But no worries. Everyone knows better than to dress you up in fishnet and bunny ears."

Torn between a glare and a snort, he does neither. "Tell Jaspien I'll see him in Lisbon."

Yokaze sighs. Heero knows she's tired of bearing the messages he refuses to deliver himself. But she doesn't try to talk him out of it. Her acceptance gives him the initiative to break his usual pattern and add, "And tell Duo I..."

The line echoes with perfect silence as she waits for him to finish his thought.

Heero takes a fortifying breath. He doesn't say what he _wants_ to say, but he says what he _can._ "Tell Duo the hot chocolate here isn't nearly as good as his is."

A moment later, after exchanging brief farewells, Heero re-cradles the receiver and turns in the small phone booth to gaze out at the boardwalk and the golden orb hovering over the horizon. He takes a moment to let himself feel the trapped heat of the setting sun through the glass of the booth's doors. And then he steps outside and approaches his customary spot against the railing to watch... and to wait.

He sighs, leans his elbows against the sun-kissed metal, and savors the coming of the night. He knows exactly how many minutes it will take before the star-speckled indigo will tumble across the sky. And he waits for the moment when he'll be able to witness the closest thing in all the Earth and the colonies he's found to match Duo's laughing eyes.

**End of Chapter One**


	2. Chapter Two: Dreaming of Horses

**Author's Note: **Hey, thanks for reviewing Chapter 1 (anissa32 and Shadowgoddess03). Good to hear from you again!

**Warnings:** Uh, angst, language, and sexual innuendos... for this chapter anyway...

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Two: Dreaming of Horses_**

**"Is that my new house?"**

Yokaze holds the door open as her passenger slithers down from the back seat of the rented car. "That's it, Kylie," she replies. The little girl hesitates, leaning back against the side of the seat and preventing Yokaze from closing the door. She watches as Kylie attempts the stretch the sleeves of her new sweater over her hands in a nervous gesture. Yokaze is about to move around the door and crouch in front of her for a little reassuring one-on-one, but her partner steps up and takes the point position.

Silently, Trowa leans against the fender beside her and stretches out a hand. A shy smile erases the anxiety on the girl's features and one of Kylie's hands emerges from beneath the cable-knit cuffs. Yokaze watches as her delicate fingers are carefully enfolded in Trowa's hand.

"It's a pretty house, isn't it, Kite?" he asks quietly.

Yokaze feels a constricting pressure in her throat at the sound of the tough little girl's pet name. She remembers the day Trowa had gifted her with it. They'd gone to the local orphanage to interview the children there in an attempt to uncover their pasts. She and Trowa had already talked to Kylie several weeks earlier and were still searching for her family. Yokaze had been feeling rather despondent about the lack of progress. All of the other children from C555 had been placed in good homes... all except Kylie.

Upon seeing Yokaze and Trowa, she'd rushed up to them and shyly asked if they'd found her a home yet. Trowa had crouched down and told her not to worry. They weren't going to find her just any old home. They were going to make sure it was perfect.

Yokaze had just watched, soul aching for that little girl, for Trowa, for the unfairness of life... Suddenly remembering that the orphanage director had requested a moment with her before they left, Yokaze had ducked into the woman's office. A moment had turned into a half an hour but Yokaze hadn't minded. She'd needed the opportunity to get herself together. But the sight that had greeted her when she'd stepped outside...

Trowa had stood on the lush lawn, carefully reeling in a cheap, plastic kite. Yokaze even recognized it as one of the odd items he'd bought on a whim during a trip to the grocery store. The entire stock of summer toys had been on sale and he'd tossed a few – seemingly random – items into the cart. This kite had been among them. She'd wondered why he'd left those toys in the trunk of their car...

Yokaze had leaned on the porch railing and watched as he showed Kylie how to launch it into the air by herself. She'd watched and she'd ached. Just like now.

Kylie glances back at the house then looks up at Trowa. "I guess..." she says in response to his inquiry. "It looks kinda... boring."

Trowa raises a brow at her critical assessment. "How so?"

"Well... it's white, Mr. Trowa," she replies.

"What color would you paint it?"

"Green," she tells him without hesitation.

"Aren't you afraid it'd get lost in the grass and you wouldn't be able to find it?"

She smiles, liking the idea. Trowa smiles, too. Still holding her hand, he straightens away from the car and starts to move her toward the house in question. "I thought yellow was your favorite color," he comments softly.

"I changed my mind," Kylie informs him.

"Why is that?"

She wraps her other hand around Trowa's and looks up at him. "Because I like the color of Mr. Trowa's eyes better."

Yokaze quietly shuts the car door and leans back against it for a moment. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, wishing for this day to be over with. As happy as she is to have found Kylie's family... as happy as she is to finally be sharing her "missions" with Trowa... Yokaze bites back the pressure swelling beneath her sternum and wishes she could just open her eyes and find herself in the middle of a hot shower in their new apartment.

_If wishes were horses..._

Yokaze draws in a breath, filling her lungs to the point of discomfort, and opens her eyes. She pushes herself away from the car and dons her professional façade as she follows the other half of her soul up the walk. To any passersby, Yokaze Yuy would appear to be in perfect control. But then, perfection is well-traversed territory for her.

She glides past Trowa and Kylie to ring the bell beside the door. As she waits for a response, she hears the sound of Kylie's laughter and glances over her shoulder. She hadn't heard what had been said. She doesn't need to. Kylie has one hand clutched around the kite pendant now hanging from her neck. Yokaze had spent hours searching the Internet for it and Trowa had taken it around to half a dozen jewelry stores until he found one that would engrave his contact number on the opposite side. Eyes tearing, Kylie snuggles against Trowa's kneeling form, throwing her arms tight around his neck. Yokaze watches as his hands rise to her shoulders and he hugs her back.

"Thank you, Mr. Trowa," Kylie says. Then she leans back and kisses him on the cheek.

His gaze jerks up in surprise and Yokaze finds herself locked in a moment with him. She stares at him. He stares at her. And the most beautiful expression of tenderness and longing softens his features. He smiles. Yokaze attempts to smile back, but the throbbing ache of her heart makes the simple gesture a challenge.

She's saved by the sound of the front door opening. Yokaze turns quickly and, with relief, allows her customary mask to slide into place. She extends her hand and begins the process of reuniting a family.

_A family._

The one thing she, with all of her skills and talents, cannot create. The one thing she cannot share with Trowa. The one thing she's fairly certain he desperately wants someday. The one thing she would wish for if given the chance.

_If wishes were horses..._

Her polite smile remains firmly in place.

_...beggars would ride._

...ooo...

**"And the headless horseman** rides at midnight through the woodland road even 'til this very day."

A moment of silence follows Bisho's dark whisper.

And then Wufei breaks the moment with a derisive snort. "Whatever," he states, getting to his feet to pour out the dregs of his tea.

Duo's gaze follows him for a moment before returning to his sister. With an expression that's halfway between amused and pissed off, he asks curiously, "What are you trying to accomplish, Bisho? Traumatize Quatre for life?"

Quatre mock glares at Duo. "It's just a story," he replies defensively and returns to scooping out the stringy, orange innards of the large pumpkin on the table.

Duo grins at the sight of Mr. CEO with his silk shirt rolled up to his biceps and his forearms covered in pumpkin goo. "Suure. You just keep telling yourself that," Duo drawls. Not getting a response from Quatre, he turns to the story's intended audience. "So what do you think, Jas? You really think there's a headless horseman out there somewhere?"

Jaspien arcs a brow, looking far too sage for his years. "You can't live without your head," he says matter-of-factly.

"But the headless horseman isn't alive," Bisho corrects, separating the pumpkin seeds for toasting. "He's a ghost."

The young boy frowns. "Ghosts can't hurt you."

Bisho smiles. "But you can't kill a ghost, either..."

Duo says, "Now you're trying to scare Jaspien."

She laughs. "It takes more than that! Besides, it'll give him a good excuse to spend the night with Heero because you know as soon as he gets here Jas is going to—"

A loud _slam!_ from somewhere on the second floor of the villa causes everyone to pause. Wufei, having finished washing his tea mug, listens to the sounds of heavy footsteps slogging down the stairs. Everyone watches as Taki sweeps past the kitchen doorway, ignoring the presence of the others, carrying an odd collection of items in her arms. Interest piqued, Jaspien silently follows her out of the room.

"Wufei..." Duo begins hesitantly after hearing the front door close with a _bang!_ "Where is Taki going with a can of turpentine and a pile of underwear?"

Wufei smirks. "Are you sure you want to know, Maxwell?"

"Uhm... yes?"

With a small sigh that almost sounds martyred, Wufei says, "Very well. A few months ago Taki changed my voice mail recording at the office without my knowledge. You know I'm not one to let a challenge go unanswered, so I changed her artist's profile photograph on her Earth Sphere Artists' Guild biography page online." A corner of his mouth twitches. "And it seems as if she's just found out about it."

Quatre reaches for a paper towel. "What sort of recording did she leave on your voice mail?"

With as much dignity as he can manage, considering the words he's about to say, Wufei informs him, "She informed everyone that I was for rent."

Duo has to bite his lip and hold his breath to keep from laughing out loud.

Wufei continues, a sadistic gleam in his eyes, "So I replaced her profile photo with the picture of her in those pajamas with the little children all over them."

Humor suddenly vanishing, Duo cries, "Oh, _shit!_ Wufei! Tell me you didn't!"

Wufei says nothing.

"God damn it, man! _I _took that picture. She'll think that _I—_"

Duo's semi-hysteric rampage is cut off by the sound of an explosion somewhere in the front yard. Everyone turns to the large, bay windows in time to see a large fireball rage toward the sky.

Suddenly pale, Duo leaps to his feet. "Jaspien!" He races out of the kitchen and down the hall, tumbles his way past the front steps and sprints to the small figure standing close to the towering inferno. Grasping the boy's shoulders, Duo pulls him back.

"Jaspien! Jaspien? Are you okay?"

Jaspien calmly looks away from the fire and meets Duo's eyes. He nods once, then returns his gaze to the fire. With a glance in Taki's direction, he informs her, "Bigger."

Taki grins. "I _like_ you, kid. You know that, right?"

Realizing that Jaspien is indeed all in one piece and still in possession of both pale eyebrows, Duo releases his hold on the boy's shoulders. Seeing that he's not needed by Jaspien and that it's probably in his best interests not to further irritate Taki, Duo backs off. And a glimpse of an unremarkable rental car coming up the long drive provides him with the excuse to get the hell out of there.

He's still several paces away when Trowa and Yokaze emerge from the vehicle. He watches as Trowa frowns in the direction of the bonfire and the two figures silhouetted before it. But Yokaze manages to catch his eye and slowly shake her head, indicating that it would not be wise for Trowa to investigate any further.

"Hey, guys! What kept you?"

"Hello, Duo," Trowa greets.

"Heya, babe. Are we the last ones here?"

"Just about," Duo tells them. "Wufei's hiding from Taki's wrath inside, Quatre and Bisho are carving a jack o' lantern, and Cathy and George went into town with the NW boys this morning."

At the mention of Yokaze's former band members, Trowa glances in her direction to judge her reaction. She'd said that she'd been ready for a change, that she doesn't regret quitting. Still, he remembers watching her sing, listening to her play, studying her figure as she curls up in the corner of the couch with her music journal to compose. Oddly enough, Trowa –and not Yokaze – seems to be the one who misses those moments the most.

Yokaze nods. "So it's just my brother left then," she observes. "Ever fashionably late."

"Yeah, well, you know that's the only kind of fashion sense he _does _have." Duo thinks back to Heero's eternal green tank top, black spandex shorts, and ugly yellow high-top sneakers with a defeated sigh. "Fashionably late," he repeats, getting his thoughts back on track. "That's him all right. He just loves to squeak in right under the wire," Duo agrees.

"Well, he better squeak his butt over here before seven tonight or I'll be a nudist for the party."

Duo grins. "Won't get any complaints from me, but I think Tro might get a little jealous."

Trowa's brows lift in quiet, mock disbelief. "Me? Jealous?"

Behind his back, Yokaze nods emphatically and employs great, all encompassing gestures trying to convey the gigantic proportions of Trowa's possessive nature. Perhaps sensing this, Trowa turns quickly and catches her in the act.

She grins and improvises, "I shit you not Duo; when those tight jeans of his come off, that man is _this_ big!"

Duo blinks, snorts, grins, then – taking in Trowa's blush – laughs out loud. Gasping for breath, Duo is compelled to comment, "Defying the laws of physics in every way possible, eh, Tro?"

"Oh, _yeah_," Yokaze replies for him with a lecherous grin.

Trowa crosses his arms over his chest and intones, "Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet."

Duo arcs a brow and a mischievous smile comes out to play across his lips. "No," he replies, eyeing Trowa's size twelves. "What do they say about guys with big feet, Tro? That most... _socks_ are a tight fit?"

Yokaze coughs out a laugh.

"How'd you guess?" Trowa deadpans.

Duo smirks. "Just following through logically." He then glances in Yokaze's direction before inquiring, "How long does it take to wear out... a pair?"

Yokaze crosses _her_ arms over her chest and regards Duo with raised brows. "He wouldn't know. It's _never_ happened," Yokaze haughtily informs him.

In reply, Trowa glances over his shoulder and a small, evil grin tugs at his mouth as an unspoken challenge vibrates in the air between them. He then turns back to Duo and says flatly, "Mission accepted."

**End of Chapter Two**


	3. Chapter Three: Shadows

**Author's Notes:** Oh my God... I can't believe how long it has taken me to get this together. I can only hope my muses get their shi-, er, STUFF together and help me turn out more than one chapter a MONTH! Argh. Thanks for sticking with me, folks! Appreciate it.

**Warnings: **Angst, language, original characters... (for this chapter anyway...)

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Three: Shadows_**

**_Missions were easier_**_ than this,_ Heero grouses silently. He squints at the hand-drawn map Yokaze had emailed him and attempts to decipher the scattered scribbles. Lifting the larger road map from the passenger seat, he compares the two. And finds nothing similar with the exception of an ink spot that looks like it _might_ read "Lisbon" on the far left.

With a long, quiet sigh, Heero allows the papers to slump into his lap as he leans his head back against the seat. For a minute, he indulges in emptying his mind of all thoughts and just breathes. But as much as he doesn't want to think about seeing Duo and Jaspien again, doesn't want speculate on how difficult it will be to explain why he'd left... he finds himself doing just that.

Heero shakes his head, soundlessly reminding himself not to think that far in advance. He turns back to the maps and pauses as something catches his attention. Yokaze's directions had landed at an odd angle against his leg. He tilts his head slightly to the side and manages to discern a second word. It's the name of the town where the villa is located. Eagerly, he returns to the road map and, tracing his route, realizes he's only a short distance away. Tossing both items aside, he turns off the rental car's hazard lights and navigates back onto the narrow highway.

...ooo…

**Trowa sends yet** another glance in his lover's direction. He watches as Yokaze yet again abandons her only partially unpacked bag and wanders toward the window as if answering a magnetic pull.

Although she'd managed a cheerful – if rather raunchy – conversation by way of greeting with Duo, Trowa knows that she is deeply troubled. And he has tried every subtle tactic in his knowledge to encourage her to share her thoughts with him. Her equally subtle avoidance has matched his efforts on every occasion. He is running out of patience, but this is neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.

When he sees her stare waver as she blinks out at the growing darkness, Trowa comments blandly, "It's a nice room."

She nods absently but he can sense she's more in the here and now at this moment than she was a few short seconds ago.

"I hope the bed doesn't squeak too loudly."

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. "Hm."

"Unless you're ready to have The Talk with Jaspien? In that case we could be as loud as we like," he concludes to the accompanying laughter he's managed to pull from her.

Yokaze shakes her head and takes a small step away from the window. "I don't think Duo realizes that's coming up on the agenda in the next couple of years."

Trowa smiles. "Can I tell him?"

Yokaze laughs again and, this time, she turns to look at him. "Only if I can watch."

"Fair enough."

He continues unpacking his own bag and surreptitiously watching Yokaze return to her own.

"We should ask him for copies of those photos he took of us in the hall of the academy."

Trowa's expression softens as he remembers that morning. In a husky voice he agrees, "Yeah."

"Of course, there's going to be cameras sitting out tonight..." she muses in a too-casual tone.

"And there's plenty of hallways..."

Their eyes meet over the expanse of the ornate brass bed. They grin.

"It's going to be a good night," she predicts softly after a long moment.

This time, Trowa doesn't have to say anything to express his agreement. He simply watches as she turns back to her bag and finishes transferring her personal things to the dresser squatting nearby. His gaze follows the motions of her hands as she tucks her clothes into one drawer then slides it shut. Her fingertips linger on the edge of the drawer and Trowa suddenly finds himself appraising the unsuspecting furniture's sturdiness...

Her hips shift to one side as her hand falls away from the dresser and Trowa realizes a moment later that she's not returning to the deflated bag still resting on the bed's coverlet. He lifts his gaze to her face and sees that faraway, focused look in her eyes as she wanders back toward the window.

Were there any other expression on her face, he would consider approaching her. But that look... He studies her body language and knows that if he were to approach her right now – touch her right now – she would not welcome it. It startles him to realize the woman sharing this room with him is not his lover, but a soldier.

He endures the sudden shifting as a deep crevasse of unease slices through his soul. He knows that surely something must be causing this odd behavior. _Something..._ But what?

...ooo…

**"A _what?_"**

Mark crosses his arms over his chest and gives Ian's flabbergasted expression his full attention. "You heard me," he replies evenly.

Ian blinks, opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it once more. This time he manages to actually speak. "I... I don't think I did. You'd better repeat that."

With a sigh, Mark repeats, "I've been offered a job at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities as an assistant librarian."

For a long moment, the room is charged with a severely pregnant silence. Ian's confusion and shock and disbelief finally find an outlet in a single word: _"Why?"_

Mark draws a deep breath, preparing to deliver his planned speech.

Seeing this, Ian holds up one hand to halt his reply. "I mean, you _love_ what we do. The song writing, the rehearsals, the interviews, the tours... You'll be bored to tears in Cairo dusting old books in some windowless room!"

Mark shrugs. "I won't know until I give it a try will I?"

Utterly unable to comprehend his best friend's decision, Ian attempts to push his earlier point, "You can't live without the music and the fans."

"I can," Mark says sharply, his eyes narrowing at Ian's firm declaration. "And I _will._ People change, Ian. NW isn't doing for me what it used to."

Ian leans back against the closed door with a deep sigh. "I can't believe I'm hearing this." He gets a little angry as the imminent collapse of the band he's spent so much of his energies on becomes apparent. "Damn it. First Yokaze and now you. The next thing I know it, Luke'll be..."

Mark turns away and starts pulling his costume out of the closet.

Ian trails off as it all suddenly becomes clear. "You're not bored," he accuses softly. "You're tired of waiting for a sign from Luke."

"No, that's not it at all," Mark replies, sounding tired and unconvincing.

"The hell it is."

Tossing his evening's attire down on the bed, Mark commands, "Just drop it, Ian. I have a party to get ready for and I sincerely hope _that's _not your costume."

Ian ignores Mark's attempt to change the subject. "When are you going to tell the others?"

"Tomorrow. At breakfast."

"Reconsider. Please."

"No. I'm twenty-eight years old. It's time to move on."

Ian shakes his head and moves to open the door. "Stubborn bastard," he mutters over his shoulder.

"Anyone I know?"

The sound of a third voice causes both Ian and Mark to freeze. There, framed in the now open doorway, is Luke. He looks from Ian's dark glower to Mark's carefully neutral expression.

"Guys? Something wrong?"

At a loss for words, Ian just shakes his head and shoulders his way into the hall. Luke watches his retreating figure for a moment, a small frown pulling at his lips and brows. A motion from within the room draws his attention back to Mark who has begun to smooth the wrinkles from the garments artlessly draped over his bed.

"Mark?" Luke tries, seeking some sort of explanation. He doesn't get one.

Without glancing up, Mark asks in a bland tone, "What do you want?"

"Um..." He hesitates. Sure, he's used to Mark's often coolly polite demeanor, but this indifference unnerves him. "I, uh..."

At Luke's fumbling, Mark looks up at him. "You, what?" He watches as Luke hovers on the threshold, neither leaning against the doorframe nor smiling, as is his wont.

"I came by to offer..."

Seeing Luke off-balance and unusually tense, Mark can't help but wonder exactly what Luke would be offering that would cause him to be so anxious. When no more words are forthcoming, Mark arcs a brow at him before turning back to his costume in order to pick a few bits of imaginary lint off of them. "I can't accept or decline if I don't know what it is," he points out dryly, prompting Luke to finish his thought.

Luke clears his throat and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. "Want help with your makeup?"

They stare at each other for a moment. Luke endures Mark's searching gaze in silence. Is it simply his imagination, or is that stare far more penetrating than normal?

Mark turns away and shrugs. "If you want to."

"Um... okay." Taking a step back, Luke nods in the direction of his own room down the hall. "I'll just get my stuff. You need more than ten minutes to get changed?"

"Ten minutes is fine."

"All right. See you in a few, then."

As Luke turns and retreats down the corridor, Mark pauses in the act of unbuttoning the shirt he'd chosen for tonight and glances up just in time to glimpse the movement of Luke's shadow against the opposite wall. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. In the past five plus years, all he's ever managed to catch of Luke has been his shadow. It's time to stop chasing phantoms. Shirt still in one hand, Mark crosses the short distance to the door and pushes it closed.

**End of Chapter Three**


	4. Chapter Four: Strategy

**Author's Note: **Well, I'm back. Obviously. Hopefully all healed up from my bout with the latest chirospasm (that's a fancy word for "writer's cramp"). Thanks for sticking with me, folks. I'm feeling a little tentative about this story so constructive criticism is welcome.

**Night Wind**

_**Part I – See the Sunlight Fading, Fading...**_

**_Chapter Four: Strategy_**

**The sound of** the large jack o' lantern being set down on the buffet table in the festively festooned dinning room is followed immediately by an exclamation of relief.

"Whew!" Bisho breathes, grinning at Quatre over the silently laughing, orange beast. "There were a couple of times there when I wasn't sure we'd make it."

Quatre smiles back. "Good thing we used a fireman's carry."

"Yeah..." Bisho gently tightens her grip around Quatre's biceps, reluctant to let go.

Sensing this, he gives her a closer look. "Bisho?"

They stare at each other for a long moment, the carved pumpkin laughing soundlessly between them.

Bisho feels herself getting drawn into the moment and hears herself answer Quatre's question with one of her own. "Are you ever going to kiss me?"

"Yes." Quatre's soft whisper echoes in the ornate room. He can feel the carefully constructed polite façade fall away from him and he knows the exact moment when Bisho is finally gifted with the sight of the longing and passion he has so diligently hidden. "I will," he promises quietly. "When the moment is perfect, Bisho, I will."

And he's sorely tempted to label this very moment as "perfect." Her eyes, always so passionate and forthright, are expressing an open invitation. Her lips had parted at his words and not for the first time, he finds himself envisioning that first intimate touch. He gazes back at her, yearning to lean forward, but held fast by the greater need to honor his first love with a sweet, gentle seduction. There will be no passionate madness in this romance; Quatre is determined to execute his chosen strategy as he'd originally intended. Being her beau is a bittersweet arrangement: he is honored with her trust and affection even as he thirsts for more. But Quatre will not settle for being Bisho's lover. He will be her husband and nothing less. That is, after all, why he is courting her so carefully.

In this, there is no room for error.

Bisho reads the beginning of a silent withdrawal in his gaze. She is frustrated with his stubbornness in this. She has fallen in love with him and wishes to communicate her feelings with more than a look or inadequate words. Yet he insists on playing the role of the gallant knight. Had she done this? In calling him her "Lancelot," had she established this line he refuses to cross? And if so, how does she begin to fix it?

Quatre begins to lean away and, quickly, she searches for another way to end this moment. _Any_ other way.

"You've got a strategy for everything, don't you, Q?" she hears herself tease.

Quatre pauses, finding her words an almost eerie echo of his earlier thoughts. But her light tone and wide grin don't quite hide a fear he thinks he understands. Once again, he reminds himself to be careful. He does not want her to believe she has done something wrong or that his feelings have changed. He simply wants her to enjoy this.

Quatre smiles. His left hand leaves her arm to gently skim over the side of her face. "Not everything," he replies honestly. "There's no strategy for the things I know I can live without."

Bisho blinks, her smile fading, and Quatre realizes that, before this moment, she hadn't really considered her importance to him. Into this instant of dawning realization, Quatre holds out his right hand to her, palm up in silent request, and inquires, "Would you like to see where this one will lead us?"

Her smile returns, softer and yet infinitely more sincere. Bisho nods in silence as she slides her own hand into Quatre's. His answering smile pulls her closer until they've stepped away from the table and are approaching the dance floor. She laughs out loud when he spins her around with fluid skill. Bisho makes a mental note to find out exactly who had been responsible for Quatre's etiquette lessons and thank them. Profusely.

A soft knock on the open door, pulls Bisho and Quatre's attention away from each other and toward Duo. Hovering on the threshold, Duo offers an apologetic smile. "Sorry, guys, but the – er – _caterer_ is on the phone and I think he's going to give himself an aneurysm trying to read Yokaze's map..."

Quatre laughs. "No worries, Duo. I'll take care of it."

Wishing he'd taken the time to memorize the local routes himself, Duo simply nods.

Quatre gives Bisho one last, lingering look before heading out of the room.

Duo studies his sister carefully, noting the remains of a bright smile. "Sorry, Bish..." he begins.

"It's okay, Duo. Really."

He frowns, wondering why she isn't more upset with him for ruining the moment.

She shrugs at his confused silence. "We're taking things slow, you know?"

"Is that what you want?" he asks, grasping the opportunity to hear her thoughts on the relationship developing between her and Quatre.

Bisho nods. "Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, it is."

Duo's lips curve into a lopsided grin. "Good." With a deep breath and a nod, he turns to get back to his card game with Jerret, Sam, George, and Cathy.

"He's not here yet, is he?"

The soft question freezes him in his tracks. Duo doesn't have to ask who she's talking about; only one person hasn't made an appearance yet this afternoon. He draws in another deep breath and says in a steady voice, "Nope."

There's something about the tone of her brother's voice that makes Bisho ask, "You don't think he's really coming, do you?"

Crossing his arms, Duo leans his back on the doorframe. "I... Well, let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't show."

Bisho crosses the distance between them and pulls Duo into a warm hug. "Even if he doesn't," she says, "you've got to tell him, Duo. You've got to get this off of your chest."

He wraps and arm around her waist and gives her a gentle squeeze back. "Yeah, I know, Bish. I know." He leans back after a moment and looking into her eyes, he smiles as he says, "Q's really something, isn't he?"

A radiant grin communicates Bisho's wholehearted agreement.

"Don't let him go, Bisho," Duo tells her.

And before she can formulate a reply to that, Duo slips away and disappears down the hall.

...ooo...

**Cathy glances up** from the cards she'd been shuffling for the last five solid minutes. She thought she'd seen Duo's shadow cross the threshold... but obviously not. No one is standing there now. She sighs and meets her husband's concerned gaze with one of her own.

Without Duo's presence, the table is eerily quiet. The easy banter and harmless fun that had filled the kitchen had been irrevocably shattered by that first single ringing of the vidphone. The innocuous sound had erased Duo's humor and the hesitance Cathy had witnessed in him as he'd reached to answer it had told her one thing: he'd believed the caller had to be Heero.

But he had picked it up with a forced expression of cheer – just as he'd initially taken the seat nearest to the phone with an air of manufactured nonchalance. And just as Duo's humor had infused them all with amusement, his tension had as quickly stolen it away. All that tension... and the caller hadn't even been Heero. But then again, Cathy muses, perhaps that's a good thing. No news is good news... isn't it?

Jarret clears his throat and turns to Sam, seated on his left. "That is the ugliest damn shirt I have ever seen you wear, man," he challenges in an attempt to resurrect the dying corpse of camaraderie lying prostrate on the table.

Sam summons up an over-bright smile. "Always reaching for bigger and better, you know me."

Jarret snorts. "Yeah. I do know you. Which means you didn't bother to wash it after you wrestled it off of a drunk circus clown named Boris."

"H-hey," George interjects. "Not all B-borises are cl-clowns."

"But they're all drunks?" Cathy replies quickly, jumping at the opening. The conversation makes a few more circuits around the table until the Camaraderie Beast cautiously gets to its feet and shakes itself off.

"But seriously, guys," Jarret says steering the conversation away from the morals of the average Boris. "All circus clowns are drunks."

"What?" Sam says.

"Excuse me?" Cathy comments with burgeoning affront. "Trowa has _never_—"

George chuckles, "Well, if I had to w-work w-with your b-brother, _I'd _drink."

Jarret gestures at this. "My point exactly, and while we're on the topic, does anyone know how Yo can stand him?"

Sam grunts. "Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet..."

"Ah," George replies, building the joke, "b-but does h-he have rhythm?"

The other three raise their brows at this and hum in collective speculation. At this moment, the shadow Cathy had detected earlier in the doorway gains substance until Duo Maxwell is hovering on the threshold with a wide grin on his face.

"Tall guys have _no_ rhythm," he states to the room at large.

The tallest present – George – looks offended. "M-maybe not, b-but they c-c-can k-kick your ass, M-maxwell."

"_That,_ lady and gentlemen," Duo addresses his friends as he slides into his chair, "is the voice of a poor, rhythmless schmo who is fully _aware_ of his lack of groove."

"We'll see how you boys _groove_ through this next hand," Cathy says, dealing the cards.

"Bring it on, baby," Sam croons.

"W-watch it, l-lover boy," George growls.

Jarret laughs behind his cards.

"Oh, I see how you've got my back on this one," Sam grouches to the pianist. "Lazy ass."

"What are you worried about, man?" Duo asks casually as he arranges his cards. "You've got groove."

...ooo...

**"G me."**

Heero's gaze moves from the impressive bonfire to the owner of that voice. Silhouetted against the glow, Taki and Jaspien each occupy a lawn chair, holding long sticks tipped with puffy, white marshmallows. Heero watches as Jaspien blindly reaches down to the pile of cloth between them and tosses a few red scraps into the flames.

"Uncle Wufei's red underwear sure burns good," Jaspien notes, settling back into his chair to continue toasting his marshmallows.

Heero can hear the smile in Taki's voice, "He's always said that the red ones breathed better."

Feeling a little creeped out by this, Heero considers simply heading for the house and waiting for Jaspien inside. But no, he can't do that. According to Yokaze, Jaspien has really missed him. And he owes it to the boy to attempt to make up for his lengthy absence.

"Jaspien."

He watches as the little boy tenses, then twists around swiftly in his chair. Jaspien's face is, for the most part, concealed by the shadows so Heero merely stands and waits for his reaction.

"Hero!"

Heero drops his bag as the kid tosses himself out of his chair and rushes him.

"You came!"

The force of Jaspien's momentum nearly makes him take a step back, but he doesn't loosen his embrace. Heero's eyes close for a moment as the boy burrows against his shirt. Only now does he realize just how incomplete he's been these last few months away from this kid. "I missed you," he whispers, barely aware of even saying the words.

"I missed you, too, Hero," Jaspien replies. Leaning back, he asks, "Will you come home now? Are you all done with your mission?"

_So that's what Duo told him..._ "I hope so, Jas. I really want to go home, but we'll see."

Jaspien bites his lips at that uncertain reply and Heero seeks immediately to distract him. "What are you cooking?"

"Marshmallows!" Jaspien replies brightly, worries temporarily banished. "Want one?"

Heero jerks his head to the side, narrowly avoiding getting a lightly toasted puff of sugar stuffed up his right nostril.

Heero tests one of the marshmallows, decides it's not quite done, and maneuvers Jaspien over to the fire again. He takes Jaspien's seat and the boy climbs up on his lap to resume toasting.

"'Bout time you showed up," Taki says, munching on her own snack.

Heero grunts in reply.

Taki grins and elaborates, "Yokaze's been threatening to go as a nudist for the get-together tonight." She pauses. "You did bring her a costume, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Heero replies dryly.

Liking the sound of that and the slightly evil twinkle in his eyes, Taki nods approvingly.

Feeling like they've reached some sort of tentative understanding, silence descends once again.

Until:

"Hero? What's a nudist?"

**End of Chapter Four**

**Another Author's Note:** The "Camaraderie Beast" is inspired by (and likely somehow related to) Sunhawk's "Guilt Beast" from the **_Ion Arc._** Lovely stuff, Sunhawk's.


	5. Chapter Five: Connection

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Five: Connection_**

**Quatre disconnects **the vid feed, content with the knowledge that the "caterer" is now successfully on his way. He leans away from the library's desk and relaxes back into the antique chair. He allows himself this moment, knowing that he cannot waste this opportunity to be near the vidphone and with an excuse to be using it.

He reaches for the keys and dials the familiar number. As usual, the video remains off so he feels no compulsion to straighten from his slight slouch when the call connects.

"Yeah?"

Quietly, Quatre says, "It's me."

"It's about that time, isn't it?"

Quatre makes a soft noise of agreement in his throat. "No specifics this time."

"Right," the other man replies. "I've made some progress on a few older projects."

"And the most recent?"

"I'm still working on it." There's a slight pause. Wryly, the voice says, "He's a cagey bastard, isn't he?"

Quatre smiles. "At the very least. So you have data for me on the others?"

"Yup. Ready whenever you are, boss."

"Thank you. I'll contact you later from a secured line."

The soft sound of static accompanies the almost inaudible purr of the speakers. Quatre disconnects the call. He regards the stately library he finds himself in and wonders about his... employee's progress. He can't help but wonder _which_ older projects the hacker has found data on.

Quatre turns his gaze toward the large windows nearby, taking note of the silently setting sun. His thoughts wander backward in time and he finds himself frowning over his past need to be active, to be judged by his efforts alone. Once upon a time, Quatre Winner had considered that to be to only path to empowerment.

Such is not the case.

Since the mission on C555 and its consequences, Quatre has learned something very important about the world: it is not the hands and feet which have the potential to rule the universe, but the mind. He had realized that knowledge is power and that a time would come when a singular, central leader would be needful.

That time is already here.

On several occasions, he has considered sharing his insights and his burgeoning role with the others... but not tonight. Tonight is not the time for Quatre's celebration.

Besides, they will all know the truth soon enough.

The sounds of two sets of feet scuffing their graceful way down the stairs stall his thoughts and pull Quatre from behind the desk. He wanders to the doorway and leans into the hall in time to see Trowa and Yokaze descending the stairs. He takes a moment to study his friend's lover. It amazes him that she has recovered so speedily from her experience with plague. And it further surprises him to note not quiet contentment in Trowa's features, but anxious concern.

Yokaze sees him first.

"Hey, Q. What's the status?"

She is asking about the party tonight. He grins. "The caterer is on her way despite your attempts to waylay her." At her blank expression, Quatre elucidates, "Next time, _I'm_ drawing the map."

She grins. "Heh. Does that mean I get to pick the, um, _accommodations?_"

Quatre eyes her with mock wariness. "You'd probably rent us a cave..."

Her grin widens and her lips part to retort, but then something... happens.

Quatre doesn't know how to describe it. The playful mood she'd been exuding is suddenly and inexplicably shut off Tension returns to her body. The sparkle of humor leaves her eyes. Her expression, now blank, accompanies her shift in attention. Without a word to either of them, she moves in perfect silence toward the front of the mansion.

Quatre frowns after her for a moment before returning his attention to Trowa. "What...?" he begins but gets no further. The annoyed expression and the heightened tension Trowa is displaying are answer enough, for now. But when Trowa brushes past him, intent on following Yokaze, Quatre doesn't retreat gracefully. He follows as well.

Knowledge is power, after all.

...ooo...

**Taki almost laughs** out loud at the chipmunk-caught-in-the-headlights-of-an-oncoming-semi look on Heero's face. _What's a nudist, indeed?_ She snorts. Obviously, the boy is in need of a little guidance regarding the more, er, creative aspects of life. Oh, and Jaspien needs to have his question answered as well.

Without further pause, Taki tells the boy who is looking expectantly at Heero, "That's when Duo forgets to do the laundry and you don't have any clothes to wear."

Jaspien blinks at her matter-of-fact explanation before scrunching up his nose in an expression of distaste. "You mean... _naked?_"

Taki grins. "Yes, Jas. _Very_ naked."

"Eww."

This time, she does laugh.

"Ah, behold the sound of evil." This comment comes just as Taki's mirth begins to subside. It is spoken dryly and without hesitation. With a wide grin, she leans her head back against the ridge of the lawn chair and regards her lover.

"It takes one to know one," she replies quickly.

Wufei arcs an ebony eyebrow at her but she notices the fact that he does not dispute the statement. With small snort, he concedes the point and addresses the newest arrival without taking his gaze off of Taki, "Yuy. You made it. I am pleasantly surprised."

Taki chuckles. "Hear that, Heero? You've pleasantly surprised someone. I guess there really _is_ a first for everything..."

Wufei growls at Taki in Heero's defense, "Well _you_ have yet to manage it."

"Grrr. Keep talking like that, pal, and _I'm_ going to be the last remaining member of the Dragon Clan."

Wufei crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at his lover. "I would very much like to see you attempt what you threaten, love."

"I don't make _attempts_," she returns. "I _always_ follow through."

"Like the sculpture you littered Duo's garage with last summer?"

"That's not–"

"Or the kitchen cabinets you were going to refinish?"

"No one uses that room anyway–"

"Or that unfinished portrait of Heero you promised Yokaze _last year?_"

"God damn it, Chang! I _may_ have attention deficit disorder but _not_ when it comes to maiming and homicide!"

"I'm monumentally relieved you can commit to _something._"

She scowls at him. "I've stuck with your for how many years now? Please. Give me a little more credit."

"Hm," he agrees with a smirk, easily and effectively conceding the conclusion of the very old and very familiar argument.

Taki, still vaguely amused by Chang's arrogance, asks indiscriminately, "Can you believe this guy? What does it take to make him happy, huh?"

"Maybe you should buy him some more red underwears," Jaspien suggests in a stage whisper.

Wufei snorts in unison with Taki's smirk. "Smart kid," he observes.

Jaspien's lips stretch in a wide, cocky grin. Both Taki and Wufei can read the boy's intent to reply easily but something stops him. For as suddenly as his mirth had appeared, it vanishes. Quickly, he turns his now frowning visage toward Heero.

Very quietly – voice shaking – he says his name.

Taki scowls lightly as she observes Heero's lack of reaction. And that's really saying something. She cannot recall a time when Heero hadn't been resting on a hair-trigger. But now... He stares into the fire as... something passes over his impassive expression. It's not a physical reaction. For an instant, she thinks she sees something... Something internal. Something reflected in his eyes...

And then his hands are gently easing Jaspien off of his lap as he stands and turns. His movements are stiff. Almost mechanical. But the soft look that transforms his face as he pivots and regards the darkness is not.

"Yokaze," he breathes in whispered greeting.

Beside her, Taki sees Wufei flinch upon realizing that Yokaze had somehow managed to approach their small gathering completely undetected. She stands not three feet away in plain view. Taki shakes her head and once again wonders at her friend's eerie stealth abilities.

Obviously having decided that it is her turn to state something obvious, Yokaze says, "You made it after all."

"Have I ever refused an order?"

She smirks. "Not from me, that's for damn sure."

He smirks back. "I value my peace of mind far too much."

"Then why haven't you disowned me yet?"

Their wry smiles are mirror images. Their gazes do not waver. The symmetry is a little... creepy, Taki decides. But, perhaps she's just forgotten how close these two siblings are.

Heero replies, "I'm still working on it."

At this point, Jaspien snuggles up against Heero's side, settling himself beneath Heero's hand which he makes sure rests on his shoulder. He also reaches out to Yokaze, his orphan's eyes serious. "Yokaze?"

For the first time since Heero had somehow sensed her presence and turned to acknowledge her, Yokaze's gaze is redirected. She grasps Jaspien's offered hand and grins. "Yeah, Jas," she says. That and no more. Yeah: Everything is going to be all right... finally.

Yokaze squeezes the boy's fingers before the brilliant grin reappears on Jaspien's face. "I gotta tell Duo!" he announces and tears off toward the house armed with his toasted-marshmallow-tipped skewer.

Taki feels the warmth of Wufei's hand on her shoulder as in the wake of Jaspien's abandonment, that weird... connection between Heero and Yokaze is reestablished. Once again gazes merge in the darkness.

She shivers, not knowing what it is about this reunion that is so startling. And it's not until later – much later when every nuance and observation becomes critical – that Taki realizes what it is that's off between them.

Heero and Yokaze wander toward the front door in synchronization, traversing the lawn in soothing silence.

Not a single kiss or embrace... or even touch... is exchanged.

**End of Chapter Five**


	6. Chapter Six: Masks

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Six: Masks_**

**Duo takes** one look at the breathless joy radiating from the young boy under his care and knows.

_Heero's here._

He feels a slightly wobbly smile push at his lips as his fingers fumble numbly with the cards he'd been charged with shuffling.

_God, I hope I'm ready for this._

"Looks like you've got good news, dude." He glances at the cooling confections Jaspien had obviously recently been busy toasting to perfection over Wufei's sacrificial undergarments and jokes lightly, "Mastered the art of marshmallow roasting? Gonna open your own restaurant, now? Get Taki to wash the dishes for you? I think L2's ready for a decent toasted marshmallow place."

Jaspien, still grinning, shakes his head and reaches for Duo's arm. He bodily hauls the young man form his seat, barely able to speak around his happiness but Duo can read his lips.

"Hero's here!"

Duo allows himself to be herded toward the front door. He wishes for another moment or two to compose himself but knows he can't afford to show any reluctance. Jaspien will surely notice if he drags his feet. So he moves quickly but does not run. He pretends to trip over his own feet, laughs at Jas's hidden strength, wheezes and huffs like an old man. In general, he plays his role. After all, it distracts not only Jaspien but himself as well. And he knows that the secret to a successful distraction is for the artist to allow himself to get caught up in the event himself. Thus it happens that Duo covers a distance that seems intimidating in its length in a duration of time that is startling in its abruptness. Thus he finds himself leaning against the doorjamb with his hands tucked across his chest to keep from clutching Jaspien's hand too tightly. Thus he hears himself say with a crooked grin and speculatively arched brows, "Dude! You made it here before the main event."

Still grinning, Duo grasps onto a ghost of memory. He vaguely recalls another time Heero's timely arrival had been called into question. In another country. At another estate. For a different holiday. Recalling with fondness that holiday spent in Salzburg, Duo grins widely and shouts in Wufei's direction, "Pay up, man!"

...ooo...

**"Damn!** It looks like Christmas... without the tree!" Duo contributes with a grin as he follows the others into the dinning room – at Quatre's smoothly inserted suggestion – for the costume swap. He doesn't crowd around the giant jack o' lantern with the others, however, electing to utilize his bodyweight in keeping the doorway from galloping off down the hall.

Sensing the odd dynamics in the air, Trowa glances up at the young man leaning in the doorway and the corner of his mouth lifts upward. "Are you saying one of us looks like Santa Claus?"

Duo grins mysteriously. "Maaybe..."

"Ho ho ho," Bisho woofs from behind her brother.

Duo straightens with a small jump as if he had not heard her sneak up behind him. He turns and settles a mock glare on her audacious expression. "What are you doing out of the workshop, Elf?"

"Eep!" she squeaks in mock horror. "What a slave driver!"

Trowa watches Duo fight back a broad, crooked grin. "That's Christmas spirit for you," Yokaze's lover deadpans with a blank expression.

Duo throws back his head and barks out a laugh.

"And here's my contribution," Heero offers, lifting out a brown paper sack from his bag. The fact that it's a rather small and sparsely filled parcel is a detail no one present can ignore.

Trowa almost leers but manages to state flatly, "That's encouraging." He communicates a meaningful glance in Yokaze's direction.

She doesn't even bother trying to look miffed. Clearly amused, she accepts her brother's choice of costume and peers into the sack. A strange look transforms her face at the sight within the bag. "Well..." she drawls. "No doubts here who picked this out..."

Duo chuckles from the doorway at the curious expression Trowa's trying to hide. Oh yeah, that guy is as transparent as Oz propaganda. He watches as, one by one, the garment boxes – a few of which are quite large – are distributed. In no time at all, the small talk dies down as people begin to drift towards the stairs. Duo glances at the clock. The party starts in less than an hour. And, depending on the costume and the sadistic tendencies of the one who had selected it, it may take all of that time and then some to get ready.

With a contented sigh, Duo tucks his own parcel under his arm. For a moment, he loses himself in envisioning the evening to come, the startled expression yet to be preserved for posterity on Kodak 400 speed film...

"Duo?"

Blinking, Duo turns automatically toward that voice, realizing belatedly that it had been Heero who had spoken. The cavernous space of the room seems to echo around the two of them until Duo feels the tension and anxiety he'd denied himself earlier return in full force. He'd imagined this moment a dozen times... a _hundred_ times from nearly every conceivable angle. But the fear in Heero's expression as he hesitates over his next words Duo had not _once_ anticipated. He'd hoped for – at the very least – a friendly reconciliation. But whatever Heero has to say to him can't possibly be good. Not with an expression like this preceding it.

Duo's hands tighten around the box housing his costume until the cardstock buckles. He starts a little at the soft crunch and almost misses Heero's series of sudden blinks. But he doesn't miss the smile Heero manages to dredge up.

"It's good to see you again, Duo."

Ah, simple words. Predictable words. Polite words. Duo nearly sags with relief as he realizes that Heero isn't going to start their needful discussion now. "Yeah, you too, man. You been staying out of trouble?"

"As much as I can," he replies with a small smirk.

Duo relaxes even more. "Well, I can personally vouch that life with you was never dull."

As a throb of silence echoes in the wake of Duo's flippant remark, he belatedly realizes his error. He mentally smacks his forehead with an open palm. _Stupid! Don't talk about the past. Don't bring it up tonight. Don't... _He finds himself staring into Heero's eyes and his silent recriminations morph into something that resembles a plea. _Just... don't say it, Heero. Not yet._

Heero makes a visible effort to move past the rather intimidating speed-bump in the conversation. "I hear Jaspien is managing to keep you busy, though."

Duo chuckles although it's a bit forced. "Um, yeah. But he hasn't been suspended yet, so that's a good sign."

"Why did you enroll him in St. Jude's and not the public school?" Heero inquires curiously.

Duo shrugs. "The kid's brilliant. He needs to be challenged."

"But in an exclusive, private school?" Heero blinks slowly, considering the young man before him. "You never had anything good to say about the parochial school you attended at the same age."

Squashing a wince, Duo replies, "It wasn't an easy choice to make, Heero. Should I have sent him to a larger school with bigger classrooms and paint-by-number art classes?" Frustrated, he runs a hand over his braid to rub at the back of his neck. "At least this way, he's not just another 'problem' kid whose potential is never realized." Dropping his hand, Duo concludes, "I hadn't heard from you and I had to make a choice." The unspoken accusation _"Where were you when I needed you?"_ lingers between them.

"I'm not disappointed, Duo," Heero replies after a moment. "Just surprised." He manages a small, barely-there smile and confides, "You still do manage to surprise me occasionally."

Duo feels his own mouth turn up in the corners. "That's good to know."

Heero nods once and moves toward the door. Over his shoulder, he continues, "Just don't let it go to your head, Maxwell."

Relieved at the lack of tension between them, Duo follows Heero toward the stairs. "After listening to Jaspien bemoaning my soggy pizzas for the last two months, I figure I'm due a little flattery, Yuy."

The soft sound of Heero's chuckle accompanies Duo even after they've parted ways on the landing. With a slight shake of his head, Duo shoulders open his bedroom door and thinks that, maybe, things might be all right between them after all.

...ooo...

**Not for the** first time since the idea for a Halloween party had been suggested, Taki finds herself catching a brief glimpse of a mysterious smirk on her lover's face. Something is going on; she is _sure _of it. And it's positively maddening that she hasn't a clue as to what it might be.

She stalks up to him and wraps his ponytail around her fist. It had taken quite a bit of cajoling to persuade him to let his hair grow out, but she's glad she'd persisted. Having a longer, thicker mane of hair is useful for _many_ things. Including gaining his undivided attention.

Taki tugs at the silky, coarse hair. "Spill it, Chang."

He glances over his shoulder at her, a single brow arced with infuriating coolness. "To what are you referring?"

She grinds her teeth at her lover's use of proper grammar. "You're hiding something from me and I think I've waited long enough to find out what it is."

With a small grin, he smoothly replies, "No."

Taki opens her mouth to protest, but Wufei simply gathers up the box containing his costume and places a finger over her lips.

"No," he continues, something hot and devious reflecting in his expression, "You haven't waited long enough yet."

Frowning, she draws another breath in order to demand what the hell he means by that cryptic comment but Wufei interrupts her yet again. "Let Trowa know if you need help with your costume."

Still smiling that disgustingly sexy grin, he disappears into the hall.

...ooo...

**In the room** just across the hall from Taki's, Trowa gazes expectantly from Yokaze to the rumpled paper bag she'd abandoned on the bed.

"Stop asking," she says in mild reply to his silence. "You'll just have to find out with everyone else."

"Hm," he says, removing the lid on the rather large gift box he'd collected from the parlor and finds a rather detailed diagram of how to assemble his costume. With a slight frown, he lifts out a fold of shimmering, near-translucent, white fabric. Glancing once more to the diagram then back to the fabric, he feels a slight fluttering of unease. He glances in his lover's direction before casually tucking both the fabric and the diagram back into the box. Thankfully, her attention is currently absorbed by puzzling over what looks to be directions for applying make-up.

For an instant, he feels a little irritated at the author of his costume. And considering the meticulous details provided in the diagrams, it is only too easy to guess who had drawn his name.

_God help you Taki..._

Trowa doesn't finish his thought. He quietly watches as Yokaze rises and disappears into the adjoining bathroom. As the door closes softly behind her, Trowa turns back to his costume and feels a genuine smile shape his lips. His initial irritation disappears as he considers the... _tactical_ advantages to this disguise. Perhaps this is exactly what he needs in order to make some headway with his recalcitrant lover.

Reaching for the hem of his shirt, Trowa continues with his interrupted thought, _God help you Taki if I go through all this trouble for nothing..._

...ooo...

**Someone is** going to die. It's that simple.

Heero scowls at his reflection with a fierceness he'd not employed since the wars. He tugs viciously at the fabric draped across his chest and thinks, _Fishnet and bunny ears my ass!_

How had he allowed Yokaze to talk him into this?

Not for the first time, Heero lectures himself on the wisdom of trusting his elder sibling. Before he can figure out a way to salvage this situation a timid knock sounds against his door. He sighs, knowing exactly who must be at that door and knowing that he can't refuse to answer.

Standing out of sight from any potential passersby in the hall, Heero says, "Come in, Jas."

An instant later, a froth of blond hair pokes around the edge of the door. "Hero?"

"Need some help with your costume?" Heero guesses, bending to adjust one of the leather laces arcing over his ankle.

"Um, yeah..."

Straightening, Heero and Jaspien's eyes meet with an almost audible clash. Jaw hanging open, Jaspien fairly shouts, "Your costume's a _skirt?_"

Heero winces as the bedroom door settles into its frame an instant too late. With yet another sigh, he wonders how many of the villa's inhabitants had heard that. And he wonders which one of them is laughing...

**End of Chapter Six**


	7. Chapter Seven: Vows

**Night Wind**

****

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

****

**_Chapter Seven: Vows_**

**The Lakota Shaman** regards the 19th century vampire with a grin.

"Nice fangs, man," the man wearing the doeskin loincloth comments. "They'll look good next to my bear claw."

The vampire glances at the mentioned talisman displayed on a leather thong around the fearless man's neck. "You've always had bad fashion sense," he replies dryly.

Careful of the various painted designs decorating his bare biceps, chest, and thighs, the medicine man crosses his arms and responds with a half-hearted glare. "At least the person who picked _your_ costume didn't skimp on cloth. I'm gonna freeze my ass off tonight."

"That was the idea, Maxwell."

"You're a bastard, Chang."

Wufei smiles, showing off his gleaming fangs. "Why so sullen? Not feeling up to defending your warrior prowess?"

Duo glares at his friend. Thus far they are the first two to arrive in the party site. "_I'm _not going to be the one with a problem if I decide to explore my... _prowess_," he growls.

Wufei chuckles. "Ah, yes. I'm sure Yuy would _love_ to know who picked out his costume..."

"If you dare," Duo rasps, taking a menacing step toward the unconcerned nobleman, "I vow on all things excruciatingly painful to –"

A figure completely clothed in black slides effortlessly between them. "None of that, guys," Bisho's voice tells them from behind a carefully arranged mask of cloth. "Or you'll make me bust out my _wickedninjamove_!"

Duo snorts. "Oh, Christ, who thought up _this_ get up for you?"

He can tell she's grinning by the way her eyes turn into sparkling semicircles. She looks her brother up and down before replying, "A little jealous, Jumping Buffalo?"

Duo lurches for the slender ninja and when his attempt at retaliation fails, turns his glare on a darkly chuckling Wufei. "If this weren't for a good cause..." Duo tells him with a finger poking the vampire's chest punctuating every word, "I'd _kill_ you, Chang."

"Have I missed anything yet? Whoa, Duo. Nice... Just, _nice._"

Resigned, Duo grins for Taki. Then he does a comedic double-take. "You wanna talk about nice?" He supplies a low whistle and a leer. "You need to take a gander in a mirror."

Taki grins broadly and smoothes her hands over the delicately embroidered dragon that curves over the red brocade fabric of her traditional – though perhaps a bit tight – Chinese dress.

"Why, thank you, Duo." She glances at Wufei whose face is deliberately neutral. "That's probably the only compliment I'll get all night," Taki says, meeting her lover's bored gaze.

Wufei rolls his eyes. "Did Barton do your hair?" he checks in his best Agent-In-Charge tone.

Taki snorts. "As if. That man only knows two styles: bed-head and drip-dry."

From the open doorway, Cathy's knowing chuckle heralds her and George's arrival. Of course, it takes everyone a second to realize the flapper and the giant elf really are Cathy and George.

Cathy assures them, "That sounds like my brother all right." Then, with a glance at Wufei, she answers his original inquiry. "No worries, Wufei. Trowa sent her to me." Cathy squeezes through the small gathering to give Taki a reassuring squeeze and a peck on the cheek. "And you really _do_ look lovely."

"Br-breathtaking," George assures her as he firmly plants himself on her left.

Wondering at this odd overabundance of attention, Taki raises a brow in the direction of the likely culprit. Chang arcs a brow in reply, looking far too smug for her peace of mind.

"Thanks," she mutters in ungraceful distraction but no one seems to mind.

"Hey! Where's the party?"

Bisho turns at the sound of a new – but very familiar voice – and grins in the direction of the doorway. And freezes. Eyes wide with disbelief, she gapes at her boyfriend posing on the threshold.

"Q-Quatre?"

With a big, cheesey grin, the blonde pokes his Buddy Holly glasses back into place on his nose and runs a hand over his red-and-white-plaid, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. "Yes?"

Caught between complete horror and morbid humor, Bisho takes in the carefully pleated high-waisted khaki slacks, polished penny loafers, and... dear God, is that toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe? ... and chokes out, "You're...?"

"A used car salesman?" Taki finishes for her, equally fascinated and repulsed.

Duo saunters over to Quatre and takes a moment to closely examine his costume. "No, not a used car salesman... Not enough polyester." Contemplative pause. "Wait, is that sports tape on the bridge of your glasses?" Glancing down at the pens tucked into one of the shirt's breast pockets, Duo continues, "And is that a... _pocket protector?_"

At Quatre's affirming blush, Duo howls with mirth.

"Winner... the Nerd," Wufei announces.

Before the rest of the room's occupants can begin to bask in that novelty, Quatre holds up a hand, then silently turns around, presenting his back to them. There, taped to the opposite side of his pristine – if hideous – shirt is a sheet of lined notebook paper on which some thoughtful soul had scribbled the blatant request:

_Kick me._

Duo blindly grabs for one of the disposable cameras sitting out on the nearest table and documents the moment.

"Woah, dude! Isn't that one of my shirts?"

The NW boys, lead by the atrociously dressed Sam, had arrived.

Luke rolls his eyes. "I'm surprised you can recognize it when it's clean," he drawls. Slinging an arm around Mark's stiff shoulders, he concludes, "And you wonder why I'm always hanging around Marky, here."

With a nervous glance at Mark's mutinous expression, Ian interjects, "Come on, guys, let's get this gig rolling."

"Yeah," Jarret agrees, "it's got the food and the folks but it ain't lookin' like a party yet."

Luke's smile fades as Mark roughly shrugs off the arm around his shoulders. In his confusion over Mark's uncharacteristic and persistent bitchiness, he looks at Ian who merely –and unhelpfully – glances quickly away. Eyes narrowing, Luke silently vows to discover the source behind the sudden discord. But, for now, there are beautiful women to flatter.

"Taki! Oh. My..." He turns abruptly to Wufei and informs him, "If I hear you aren't treating this woman like the goddess she is, I'll steal her, Chang."

Wufei looks rather amused by this declaration. "I highly doubt you could keep her satisfied, Goldfeld."

Taki rolls her eyes. "Oi, Bisho, you got any hidden weapons on you I can barrow?"

The young woman pauses briefly before replying with award-winning vagueness, "I am a ninja."

Whether this means her skills far transcend the base need for mere corporeal weaponry or she is armed to the teeth, Taki is unable to discern before her masterpiece walks through the door. Foregoing thoughts of threatening her mate, Taki takes a moment to appreciate Trowa.

She doesn't bother to hide her smug smile when he glances pointedly in her direction. Beside her, Duo clears his throat. She waits for the teasing to start but is thrilled by the uncertain question Duo poses instead.

"Uh, Tro? Has, um, Heero seen this costume?"

"Why? Do you think he'll finally figure out I'm his sister's pleasure slave?"

"And not the other way around? Yeah, I managed to get that a while ago, Barton."

With a small grin, Trowa turns and regards his lover's brother. "Yuy. Nice to see someone finally wrestled you into a skirt."

From behind Heero, a third voice interjects, "It's called a _kilt_."

"Thank you, Jaspien. I stand corrected."

"You're standing there in not much of anything at all, Barton. I fully expect you to drag your girlfriend out of this party within the hour to save us the pain of accidentally glancing in your direction," Wufei intones with a glower.

Heero grunts his agreement.

"So Heero's a Scottish laird, that's obvious," Cathy muses aloud in a blatant attempt to redirect the conversation before Taki's mutinous expression becomes a vocal protest. "And it appears Trowa is some sort of Egyptian god–"

"Ra, the Sun God, actually," Taki drawls with great pleasure. She is nearly overflowing with her anticipation of Yokaze's arrival and inevitable viewing of said Egyptian god. After all, Yokaze had "forgotten" to tell her that she and Trowa had become lovers. In fact, had it not been for Duo's off-handed comment she'd managed to overhear a week and half ago, she _still_ might not have known. So the costume she'd originally manufactured with the intention of driving Yokaze mad with lust until the woman could no longer ignore her latent feelings for her roommate Taki had wrapped up with the intention of driving Yokaze mad with lust but being unable to accost her lover until the official end of the party. All in all, Taki is satisfied with her revenge. Especially when presented with such short notice.

Cathy hums thoughtfully and, perhaps a bit too diplomatically, at Taki's informative interjection and continues, "But I can't see Jaspien's costume..."

Heero reaches down and nudges the boy into the limelight where everyone takes a moment to contemplate...

"Everyone, meet Preventer Agent Jaspien."

Taking this as his cue, Jaspien pulls a small wallet out of his pocket, flashes a badge at them and demands forcefully, "Where were you last Tuesday night?"

Taki's brows arc. "Wow, he's really got the scowl down, doesn't he?" she asks indiscriminately, highly impressed.

Before this new thread of conversation can be explored, Trowa pats Jaspien's shoulder to get his attention, "Agent Jaspien, would you mind accompanying me on a brief assignment?"

"Is it dangerous?" is the authoritative reply.

"It very well may be," Trowa replies solemnly. "Are you armed?"

Jaspien nods.

"All right then. This way, sir."

The gathering watch in amused fascination as Trowa escorts Jaspien out onto the terrace. "Wow," Bisho says at long last. "Tro's really good with kids, hey?"

"What I want to know," Cathy contributes in mild puzzlement, "is where they found a uniform that small."

"Looked rather dashing, didn't he?" Bisho responds with a grin.

Taki smirks, "Well, I think this answers the age-old question. There really _is_ something about a man in uniform."

Duo snorts. "As if you'd ever catch me in one of those things. I mean, really. What were you thinking taking a job where you're required to wear a noose around your neck as part of the dress code?" Duo challenges Wufei.

"That particular item of clothing is actually called a _tie_, Maxwell. But as most civilized people know this, I'm not surprised you don't."

Duo fingers the edge of his ceremonial hatchet at his hip and asks mildly, "But I _do _know quite a bit about scalping. Perhaps you've found yourself in need of a... demonstration, eh?"

No one had any doubt that Wufei's reply would be caustic in the extreme, however, it was left unvoiced.

At that precise moment, a figure had moved into view. A figure cloaked in shadow. Wiry and suspicious. The faint glint of light reflects off of a green tank top and black spandex shorts. And, for an instant, Duo is dragged back in time. And then the newcomer moves into the light and snares the others' attentions.

Beside him, he hears Taki demand with blatant curiosity, "Just who are you supposed to be?"

Dark blue eyes shift their gaze to the young woman and glare from beneath unruly dark bangs.

A shiver dances along Duo's spine at that look. God, how long has it been since he's seen that particular promise of painful, imminent death? Eager to distract himself from the memories this calls forth, he takes in the remainder of Yokaze's costume. And feels a grin pull at his lips. He clearly recalls Yokaze's playful rendition of "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" she'd sung for them in the garage last June. Obviously, this is Heero's attempt at a payback for her rather creative lyrics:

_"Spandex pants, Heero's showin'... maybe they stopped him from grown'... They hold him so tight, no circulation tonight..."_

Smirking, Duo glances at Heero and notes the young man's gobsmacked expression. Apparently, Heero had not anticipated his old clothes would be quiet so... sung on his elder sister. Endlessly amused by Heero's no doubt meticulously planned revenge backfiring, Duo allows himself a good long look at Heero's attempts to digest the sight before him.

Into the stunned yet appreciative silence, Taki takes the opportunity to demand of Yokaze, "What are you? A deaf mute?"

"Hn."

And with that single syllable, the proverbial light flicks on. "Oh! I get it! You're Heero Yuy!"

"Oh, man," Duo hears himself purr as he pointedly takes his time looking Yokaze up and down. "I never would have guessed Heero knew your, er, measurements so well."

At his side, Wufei mutters, "I doubt Heero took _any_ measurements into consideration when he chose this particular costume."

Duo shakes his head in awe as he allows his gaze to descend over the Gundam pilot in front of him until he's gazing at a very familiar pair of puke-yellow sneakers. He's silently astonished at the attention to historic detail.

"Dude," Taki enthuses, "exactly how long did it take you to pour yourself into those shorts?"

With a completely in-character scowl, Yokaze redirects her attention to the impertinent young woman. Duo takes the opportunity to satisfy his sudden burning curiosity regarding the fit of those shorts. The sound of the waistband snapping back against Yokaze's skin startles not only the vampire, the ninja, and the dragon lady but also a very peeved perfect soldier.

Duo backs up a step as a very familiar-looking Glock is thrust into his line of vision.

Glare o' Death revealed in full force, Yokaze intones, "Omae o korosu."

A moment of absolute silence resonates through the dinning room.

And then: "Holy shit!" Taki stares at Yokaze with her jaw hanging open. "Where the hell did _that_ come from?" Because, judging by the incredibly tight fit of her garments, there aren't a whole lot of options here.

"Wouldn't we all like to know," Duo murmurs, making sure his hands are where Yokaze can see them.

"Oh, hell," Heero mutters to himself. His eyes narrow as the terrace doors open once more and a tall, lithe figure is backlit by thousands of twinkling lights.

Duo feels a twinge of concern as Yokaze's gaze wanders over his shoulder to the disturbance and the Glock wilts dangerously downward in her loosened grasp.

Taki says nothing to break the moment and simply basks in the fruits of her vindictive labors. Beside her, a small click draws her attention and Taki spies Wufei in the act of lowering a disposable camera. He catches her eye and she can't resist a glowing smile. Dear God, but sometimes she really _does_ love the man.

The man braced in the open French doors, shifts slightly and announces softly, "Are you ready?"

Whether this question is directed at Yokaze alone or the entire room is irrelevant. Yokaze nods minutely and a noise that sounds suspiciously like "Uhrt" slips out past her parted lips.

Trowa smiles softly, appearing to understand this strange dialect easily. "Shall we?" His arms drop from the edges of the doorframe and he holds out a hand to Yokaze who readily abandons Duo.

Duo's expression twists into something like a contemplative frown. "Ya know, if it weren't for the fact that she was about to shoot my eyebrows off, I'd feel a little offended by that."

Wufei rolls his eyes and offers his arm to Taki. Eager to follow in Yokaze's wake, Taki doesn't comment on Wufei's courtly mannerisms. She wraps her fingers around the crook of her lover's arm with startling agreeableness.

Taki is barely aware of the others trailing after them. At first, her attention is focused solely on Yokaze and Trowa's silhouettes, but once she steps out onto the terrace, her attention is – predictably – snagged by the gracefully arcing lights illuminating the area. She stares in near-awe at the small, white lights that had been meticulously wound over the wire framework. And, here and there, the occasional light would blink violet or blue or orange. Her fingers twitch against Wufei's jacket sleeve, instinctively wishing for her portable watercolor set.

"Well," Duo says, standing apart from the rest of them and motioning Jaspien to his side, "now that we're all present and accounted for..."

Taki blinks out of her trance and glances around her, noting the odd fact that everyone has formed a perfect circle around herself and Wufei. She glances at Wufei who doesn't seem remotely startled by this. In fact, he nods once to Duo, a sly grin curving his lips.

Duo clears his throat. "Friends and family, we are gathered here on this fair evening to celebrate the commitment of two incredible people. The heavenly Taki Daemon and the less impressive but gun wielding Chang Wufei–"

Surprised by Duo's words, she hastily interrupts. "Duo? What the hell's going on here?"

Grinning, Duo replies, "Well, we decided – by popular vote – that you and Wuffers here are going to be together forever so we kinda figured it was about time we did something about it."

Beside her, Wufei leans down to whisper softly in her ear, "Welcome to our wedding, Taki."

Startled but unable to deny the warm rush his words and breath have enticed, she scrounges for a token protest but her voice is breathless when she demands, "So this was all _your_ idiotic idea, then?"

Wufei smiles at her, his expression alight with a depth of affection she has somehow forgotten he has the capacity to show, he says simply, "Yes."

When the bride returns her love's warm smile, the Lakota shaman continues with his highly improvised blessing. Beside him, the Agent-In-Charge-of-the-Camera snaps away with fanatical enthusiasm. And when it comes time for the rings, Wufei carefully withdraws from around his neck the small silk pouch Taki has often seen but never understood the purpose of. Until now, that is.

"This is all I have left of the Dragon Clan," Wufei says softly into the breathless silence. "All I have left of our people."

Taki regards the meticulously detailed red gold dragon that winds its serpentine length around the silvery band.

Still whispering, Wufei tells her, "You would greatly honor our ancestors and myself in accepting it."

_Well, hell,_ Taki muses, blinking furiously. _What's a girl supposed to say to that?_ And then she hears someone promise in an uneven murmur, "I'd be proud to wear the banner of our people."

And only after the ring – still warm from resting near Wufei's skin – is slid onto her finger does Taki realize _she'd_ been the one to utter that eloquent oath. For a long moment, she stares at the symbol of her long-forgotten past and then she fists that same hand around Wufei's lapel and draws him down for a long kiss.

"Er – well..." Duo muses with a grin at the interruption, "Yeah, okay. Husband and wife and all that good stuff. Let's eat!"

In happy silence, the witnesses drift back into the dinning room leaving the still-embracing pair alone under the canopy of lights.

**End of Chapter Seven**


	8. Chapter Eight: Awakening

**Author's Note:** Many, many thanks to the wonderful folks who have let me know they are reading _Night Wind._ Needless to say, I love the reviews!

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Eight: Awakening_**

**"Dude...** That was... some... party," Luke manages around a massive and very drawn-out yawn.

Startled from his peaceful contemplation of the surrounding forest, Mark looks up at the very rumpled percussionist. "You're awake before noon," he observes, too startled to manage an indifferent tone. "Congratulations."

Grinning crookedly, Luke replies almost shyly, "Thanks." After a long moment of quiet during which Mark continues to stare, Luke ventures, "Have I totally weirded you out?"

The corners of Mark's mouth twitch upward. "I think you have."

"Eh, well, it's noon somewhere in world right now. That's how I look at it," Luke replies as he gravitates toward the assortment of breakfast foods and beverages arranged on the kitchen counter.

Mark chuckles and returns to his silent survey of the countryside. If he hears Luke pouring himself a cup of coffee somewhere behind him, he does not show it. Cup in hand, Luke leans back against the table and studies the NW guitarist. He foggily recalls his determination to unearth the source behind his fellow band member's frosty mood. Frowning, Luke notes that Mark doesn't seem very aloof now. Which only further confuses him. With an inaudible sigh, Luke pulls up a chair next to Mark's and straddles the finely carved back. He blows gently against the surface of his coffee, contemplating the view. He immediately decides not to bring up Mark's moodiness and settles on something more neutral.

"Never been to this part of the Earth before," Luke says softly. "You?"

Mark shakes his head. "No."

"Peaceful here."

"Mm."

Luke feels himself grin as he notes how peaceful it is here in this room with Mark. In the past, he's rarely let a moment in Mark's presence go by without some sort of jest. But now...

"You're quiet this morning," Luke tells him softly.

Mark shrugs. "I'm a quiet kind of guy most of the time."

Luke releases a single, soft chuckle. "Unlike me."

His companion tilts his head to one side in a sort of agreeing nod.

"Thanks for that, by the way," Luke continues before taking a sip of his coffee.

"For what?"

"You know, putting up with my shit. I know I can be really... obnoxious sometimes..."

Mark sends him a pointed look.

"...okay, _most_ of the time. But, I get the feeling you can see through it. You see _me._ So... thanks, man."

Looking a little startled, Mark nods. He continues staring out the window but his throat works as if he's trying to either force his thoughts down or shove words of reply out. Luke notices this, but isn't finished with what he wants to say.

"I know you think I don't take you seriously, but the truth is that I just want you to laugh once in a while." Abandoning the pretext of watching the countryside, Luke leans his chin on the arms he's crossed over the back of the chair and studies the too-serious man's profile.

After a long moment, Mark says with some reluctance, "Why... What brought this on?"

"Eh, I've been meaning to tell you for a while. I guess it's just – lately – you've seemed... down. I know you probably talk to Ian about personal stuff, but I was just worried."

"About me," Mark says flatly, disbelieving.

"Yeah." Luke blinks, surprised by this reaction. "Why wouldn't I be? You've been my friend for years, man."

"Luke..."

"Look, I know I'm not real good at showing it – I know I go too far sometimes – but I always thought we were friends. I mean, I know I wasn't real good at being your friend." After a soft sigh, he breathes, "I used to be okay with that."

"Used to be?"

Luke turns his stare on his coffee cup. "Yeah. I... I guess I'm getting tired of..." He sighs. "It's like this: when I do my usual song and dance I piss everyone off or I make 'em laugh, but lately I've been thinking that's not what I want. I mean, how many people really know who I am? Do _I_ even know anymore?"

"Luke..."

"There's a lot of shit from my past I don't like to deal with. I think that's why I've been trying so hard to be such an annoying ass. But, you're... so different. It's like you take all your pain and face it down every day. It's like... you're not afraid of _anything_. You're the most tenacious son of a bitch I've ever met. And... I've always respected you for that."

"Luke..." Mark asks with no small amount of apprehension, "Where is this going? What do you want from me?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "Another chance maybe?"

"To be my friend?"

Luke looks up and meets Mark's bewildered gaze, "To be real?"

For a moment, no one speaks. And then Mark looks away on a slight grimace that only partially masks the pain in his eyes. Wondering what he'd said, Luke draws in a breath to ask when a voice from the doorway interrupts him.

"So, have you told him yet, Mark?"

Frowning, Luke glances over his shoulder at Jarret. "Told me what?" He turns back to Mark when the guitarist shifts in his chair.

"What I've already told him and Sam and Ian." Not quite able to meet Luke's gaze, Mark says, "I'm leaving the band. I've resigned."

Stunned and wordless, Luke searches Mark's gaze for some sign that he's kidding. But Mark only stands and tells him softly, "I'm sorry, Luke. I'm just not as tenacious as you think I am."

In silence, Luke watches as Mark strides from the room.

...ooo...

**"Good morning, **Wufei," Yokaze says, not pausing in her stretches.

"Yokaze," he replies with a nod. He selects an area of the manicured courtyard for his own morning workout routine and comments, "I did not expect to see you out of your rooms this early."

She smirks at him. "Nor I you."

Wufei returns her smirk. "Taki's still sleeping."

Yokaze lifts her brows in an expression of amused comprehension.

"So what is your excuse?" he inquires.

"Trowa's in the shower."

Understanding each other with eerie accuracy, they return to their pre-workout motions. But it's not until Yokaze has begun moving through her first kata that Wufei speaks to her again. Watching the fluidity of her movements and the precision of her skill, he says suddenly, "I've never seen you and Barton spar."

She drops back into her stretches in order to keep her body warm while replying. "That's because we normally don't."

For a moment, Wufei wonders about this. "Is it because of Heero? I remember he was rather adamant about you fighting."

Yokaze exhales on a sad laugh. "No. It's because he's too much of gentleman to try to hit me back." She glances at Wufei. "You're not too much of a gentleman, are you, Chang?"

Wufei smiles. "Only outside of the arena."

Returning his grin, Yokaze aborts her stretches and turns to face Wufei. He watches as she slides effortlessly into her stance. Absorbing her wordless invitation, Wufei moves into his own pose and accepts.

...ooo...

**He is an impressive man,** Taki's husband.

She grins as she stands in the midst of the post-celebration debris littering the dinning room and savors the moments of the night before. There, near the far corner and nearly hidden by the sweeping drapes, is the chair that they'd caught Quatre occupying with a slender ninja seated across his lap. A nerd with a ninja on his lap. She snorts at the recollection.

_Tell me that isn't every vid game geek's favorite wet dream..._

And there, on the once-pristine table cloth, is where a very rambunctious Agent Jaspien had kicked over Yokaze's glass of punch when he'd decided to dance on the tabletop to NW's rendition of "Holding Out for a Hero."

Still grinning, she turns toward the double doors and the terrace beyond where she'd received one of the biggest shocks of her life. There, under the countless lights, she'd experienced perhaps the most pivotal moment in her life. And it had begun and ended in less than ten minutes.

With a soft, drawn-out sigh, Taki marvels at that momentary lapse; she'd lost control of her life for ten damn minutes and just look what had happened. _Married._

_There's that "M" word again..._

Wufei hadn't even let her have a chance to reconsider. The "caterer" – later identified as the local magistrate – and his assistant had observed the entire ceremony from the shows and stepped forward the moment Taki had come up for air to pronounce the ceremony binding and shove a pen and a marriage license under their noses. Still in her blissful haze, she'd scrawled her name next to Wufei's. And then it had been done.

_Married._

Taki shakes her head, bemused and awed at her husband's tenacious resourcefulness. _That cagey, cunning curmudgeon... I just **knew **__he had it in him._

A soft sound behind her manages to disrupt her happy lethargy. Turning, she spies the familiar turtleneck and jean clad figure of her best friend's lover.

"Tro," Taki states with a widening grin. In an instant, she remembers Yokaze's parting declaration of "If you'll excuse us, Ra has an appointment to be worshiped" and relives her moment of triumph. But then, taking note of the time, she continues with a puzzled frown, "But it's not even noon!" Had her cleverly constructed costume failed to accomplish its task? But no; the very idea is inconceivable!

With a soft laugh, Trowa crosses the room and confides, "I wore her out."

Thrilled, Taki's laughter has a maniacal edge to it. "Did she pass out right after the first set of fireworks or during round two?"

Trowa's lips curl ever so slightly but his voice is perfectly factual when he replies, "After round three, actually."

Taki whistles and gives Trowa an appraising once over. "You quiet ones..." she muses. And then a promising idea occurs to her. "I don't suppose you could, you know, _casually _drop that bit of info into a conversation with Wufei, could you?"

"Why not?" he replies with a seemingly innocent and indifferent shrug, but Taki sees the evil gleam in his visible green eye.

She relishes this moment with a certain gloating triumph and for a moment, doesn't bother to listen to the sounds of life stirring in the mansion. So it comes as a surprise when Trowa suddenly turns his attention to the terrace doors, every trace of good humor suddenly gone. After a heartbeat, she realizes the muffled sounds are not coming from the breakfast room or the kitchen across the hall but the courtyard outside. She finds herself following Trowa before she's finished identifying those too-familiar noises. Taki trots out onto the terrace to stand beside Trowa in time to see Wufei and Yokaze locked in hand-to-hand combat.

For a moment, she's too startled to say anything. But then, as Trowa tenses dangerously at her side, she reaches for his arm blindly and growls, "Don't you dare. I've been _living_ for the day when I get to see Chang get his ass kicked."

Trowa mutely glares at the combatants and attempts to move around her to the steps leading down into the courtyard. Taki does not loosen her grip.

"Wait," she hisses, desperate to keep the sound of her voice from interrupting the fight below. "You've seen Wufei and me sparring. You've seen him teaching at the academy. He won't hurt her."

Her words make him pause. With a sidelong glance, he asks her, "You aren't concerned with _her_ hurting _him?_"

Taki grins, eyes still glued to the combat. "She knows better than to damage anything... vital."

Trowa snorts and subsides. She can still feel the tension in him from where she maintains her grip on his bicep, but at least he's decided to let her have her show. She has a fleeting thought of thanking him for this wonderful wedding present, but she's too busy biting her tongue to keep herself from cheering Yokaze on.

...ooo...

**He awakes.**

Heero pants slightly against the rumpled pillow and lingers in an eternal moment of confusion. Mere seconds ago he had been asleep but now, inexplicably, he is wide awake. And restless. He notes his elevated heart rate and feels his body tightening with anxiety.

Something has happened. Is happening...

Heero blindly tosses back the covers and pulls on a pair of jeans. He snags the nearest shirt at hand and pulls it up his arms until it hangs open from his shoulders. Barefoot and nearly humming with tension, Heero hurries into the hall. For a moment, he doesn't bother to wonder where he thinks he's going. He simply follows the instinctive pull leading him toward the end of the hall until he finds himself standing on a sunlit balcony.

With Duo.

The young man blinks his wide, dark eyes in an expression of startlement at the abrupt interruption.

"Heero," he manages after a moment. "'Morning."

"'Morning," Heero returns absently as he steps closer to the railing, his gaze sweeping the grounds in search of that _something_ of which he is in pursuit. And after a moment, he detects it. Or rather, he detects _them._

He glowers down into the courtyard at the forms of his sister and Wufei locked in fierce combat. Heero is unaware of the expression tightening his features until Duo says, "Relax, Heero. It's just a training exercise."

Those softly spoken, sincere words reach through the odd haze that had begun to leach the color from Heero's sight. Looking up, Heero hears his voice, soft and leaden, demand, "What?"

Duo blinks yet again and Heero notices the reluctance with which he removes his gaze from Heero's shirt. It is only at this moment that Heero realizes he is wearing the blouse that had been included with his costume from the night before. The soft morning breeze toys with the light, pale cotton. It tugs at the gathered cuffs and dangling laces.

With a wariness now entering his eyes, Duo replies, "Wufei and Yokaze are only sparring."

Heero opens his mouth to inform Duo that Wufei is capable of throwing some damn hard punches. Heero knows this from personal experience. But in the next instant, logic calmly informs Heero that Yokaze is equally capable. He settles on a noncommittal grunt.

He returns his attention to the battleground below. His focused stare follows every attack, every shift of weight, every indrawn breath. He loses track of the time as the brutal dance lulls him. It is with a start that Heero realizes Duo's gaze is once again on him. A small frown darkening his expression, Heero returns Duo's attention. And then the breeze tugs at his shirt tails.

A small smile curls the corners of Heero's mouth as he realizes the sight he must be making, standing here barefoot in a pair of old jeans and a highland blouse...

Just as Heero begins to allow himself to feel truly amused at his hasty choice of clothing, Duo's gaze shifts up over Heero's bared chest and he finds himself drowning in those dusk-blue eyes. Heero recalls every single evening he'd spent waiting for this color, this _precise_ color, to unveil itself across the night sky. He recalls every single regret he'd rehearsed in his mind. He recalls every hope he'd unearthed in the dark shadows of his soul.

Feeling himself falling into the intensity of Duo's gaze, Heero knows...

_It's time for the truth._

**End of Chapter Eight**


	9. Chapter Nine: Unexplained

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Nine: Unexplained_**

**He can see it coming.** It's there in his eyes. The truth.

Duo tries to force his gaze away from the bastard mix of regret and resignation in Heero's eyes. Tries... and fails. His own thoughts are oddly silent as he stands here, staring at Heero. He is barely capable of swallowing let alone speaking. There is only one word he desperately wants to say but it gets tangled in his vocal cords: _Don't._

And then it's too late; Heero speaks first.

"Duo..."

Duo's entire body tenses, sensing the resulting verdict from Heero's weeks of introspection rushing toward him like the inescapable discharge from a Buster Rifle.

Heero draws in a deep breath and tells him in a carefully modulated tone, "I owe you an explanation."

"No, you don't," Duo hears himself say in a wooden voice. The response is automatic, slipping past the tension in his throat with mysterious ease. He is struck by the surreal quality of this moment. He can't quite process the sight of Heero in the slightly wrinkled, unfastened shirt that Duo had made with his own hands to accompany the rest of Heero's costume. If he looks closely enough, he can even see the slight unevenness of the seam over Heero's left shoulder...

"I promised you one."

But Duo doesn't want to hear it. For a moment, he's nauseated by his own cowardice. How is this more difficult than setting explosives in the dark? How is this testing him in ways that his pilot training never did? What power does this unnamable fear have over him?

"About what happened... before the mission..."

Why Heero's words further unsettle him, Duo doesn't know. He's known ever since he'd received Heero's letter that this moment – this conversation – had been inevitable. What he doesn't understand is how he can simply stand here – brain numb and breath held - while Heero tells him...

"You were the closest friend I've ever had–"

_Were..._

It's just a word. Just one word, Duo tells himself. Just a single, stupid word. It shouldn't have the power to destroy a man.

But it does.

Duo almost gasps at the sudden implosion taking place in his chest. Only his earliest instincts keep him eerily silent. Beyond the rush of his own pulse, he is aware of Heero's voice. It is deceptively soft. Oddly soothing. For all that it is informing him that their friendship is over.

And with that thought, Duo feels himself overwhelmed. He raises a hand and beseeches, "Stop. Just... just stop."

The silence rings in his ears when Heero does. Gathering his strength – his mask – for one last grand performance, Duo crosses his arms and turns back to the beautiful countryside and the manicured grounds below. It doesn't seem nearly so perfect and peaceful now.

Duo feels a bright smile curving his mouth and hears himself say, "We were under a lot of stress during that mission, you know?" He barks out a laugh. "Hell, I'd almost bit the big one the night before!" Duo shakes his head, easing even further as the words roll out of him. "Don't worry about it, man. Seriously. It's already been forgotten. I think it's just better for both of us if we just move on, you know?"

For a moment, there's no response and before Duo can stop himself, he turns to see if Heero really is still standing next to him. He doesn't have enough time to do more than confirm Heero's presence before a soft, pained gasp is sucked into Heero's lungs. For an instant, Duo wonders what had caused it, but the answer echoes up at them from below.

Duo switches his attention to the courtyard and comprehends what Heero must have witnessed a mere second ago. Yokaze had taken a hit. And a pretty nasty one by the way she'd crumpled to her knees, arms wrapped around herself as if she's trying to keep her guts from spilling out onto the ground.

"Shit! We'd better get down there..." Duo says, pausing only when he realizes he's suddenly talking to thin air.

...ooo...

**She's never seen** Trowa Barton this angry before.

_Never._

Taki watches the former acrobat wrap his long arms around his pale and gasping lover as his cold gaze settles on Wufei. But he says nothing as he eases Yokaze to the ground and places his hands over her stomach. Taki doesn't see what he does with his fingers but a moment later, Yokaze is finally managing more substantial breaths.

"Explain yourself, Wufei."

Standing beside her husband, Taki shivers in the warm breeze. Taki watches Wufei force himself to take a deep breath before he admits, "I honestly don't know. We were fine and then suddenly..."

Taki glances helplessly at her friend but Yokaze's concentration is still focused solely on re-inflating her lungs. As she watches, Taki can't help but wonder how the hell this had happened. Yokaze is an accomplished fighter. Taki has seen her take punches – and more – before and yet this is the first time she's seen Yokaze this winded. Damn it, she just _knew_ she should have climbed down from the terrace for a better view!

Once again, Trowa's ghastly quiet, hard voice snags Taki's attention, "If she suffers any aftereffects of your carelessness..."

Even as oblivious as Taki is at times, she hears the threat in Trowa's icy tone easily.

For a moment, the only sounds are Yokaze's slightly rasping breaths. But then she reaches for Trowa and manages a soft, pained grunt. The way she grasps the fabric of his shirt and nods in the direction of the villa articulates her meaning clearly. Trowa easily lifts her into his arms.

Stunned by the entire episode, Taki watches him climb the terrace stairs and disappear inside the house with Yokaze nestled against his chest.

"I don't get it," she mutters to Wufei. Still staring after Trowa's departing form, she wonders aloud, "What exactly did he mean by 'aftereffects'?"

Wufei shakes his head. Taki frowns at the odd transition of expressions she sees. His puzzlement morphs into surprise before transforming into something akin to sorrow. But he only shakes his head at Taki's question.

He suddenly turns toward her and gives his wife an appraising look. Arcing a brow, Wufei inquires gently, "Are you feeling all right this morning?"

Taki blinks. "Huh?"

"I'm just wondering why you haven't demanded that I carry _you_ across the threshold yet," he replies in a droll tone.

Taki bristles. "I pride myself on being a tad bit more original than some established cliché."

"Uh huh." He doesn't bother to sound convinced. "That would be why I removed a black garter from your thigh with my teeth in the presence of our closest friends last night."

Taki's grin is quite feral as she vividly remembers that portion of the previous evening. "Yup."

...ooo...

**Heero leans heavily** against his bedroom door until it snaps shut in its frame. Feeling vaguely nauseous, he slumps against the hand carved pine. His hands fist against his stomach and he forces himself to breathe deeply and evenly.

For the first time in his recollection, he is genuinely happy that Yokaze has someone else to lean on, someone else to make sure she's all right, someone else to tell her to rest. Heero winces at the very thought of having to go down the stairs into that courtyard right now and check on her. As he ought to.

Each breath burns a little less than the last but it's a long time before he pushes himself away from the door. Stunned and aching, Heero stumbles toward the bed and pulls his still-packed duffel from beneath it. The cheerful morning sunlight pours into the room and over his back but its warmth is of little comfort.

Clutching the duffel's strap in his fist, Heero kneels on the carpet and feels his bewilderment increase as the pain starts to subside. Still gulping down air in silence, he wonders with uncharacteristic frantic confusion why Duo's announcement would leave him feeling like he'd just taken a very palpable punch to the gut.

**End of Chapter Nine**


	10. Chapter Ten: Flight

**Night Wind**

**_Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading..._**

**_Chapter Ten: Flight_**

**Trowa is as careful** as he can be as he treks through the mansion and climbs the sweeping staircase. He can hear the hard-earned breaths Yokaze sucks into her lungs and feel the warm, humid exhalations through the fabric of his shirt. She's pressed her ear against his chest and he has to force his heartbeat to remain steady so that she can use it to regulate her own.

It seems like the journey to their room takes years but he's kicking the door shut behind him not five minutes after Yokaze had collapsed in the courtyard. In an instant, he's settled her in his arms on the bed and it's then that he notices the sound of his own voice assembling meaningless murmurs in an effort to calm her.

Trowa pauses briefly in his monologue at that thought. And it's only then that he realizes that Yokaze does indeed need calming. She clutches at his shirt until her knuckles are bloodless and he's sure she's bruising her own palms with her nails even through the bunched fabric of his shirt. Her entire body shudders convulsively as if it is attempting to pull itself apart. Without further hesitation, Trowa wraps his arms around her tightly in an attempt to hold her together.

He whispers to her even as he concentrates on squashing his own fears. He does not understand what just happened. She should not be reacting this way to a single blow to her diaphragm. She is tougher than this. Therefore...

Trowa swallows back his rising anxiety.

Therefore something else must be to blame.

And, after a moment, he thinks he knows what it might be.

Aching with her, Trowa curls his limbs even tighter around her, seeking comfort in her presence. He fights to keep his own fears out of his voice as they begin to manifest in his mind. It becomes a battle to keep his pulse steady but he knows he must. He fists one of his hands in her hair to hide its trembling.

Never in his life did he expect he would ever regret a night of passion spent in Yokaze's arms. But, as he has come to realize, life has a way of surprising him. Mostly in ways he would have been perfectly content to live without.

Slowly, slowly, their bodies exhaust themselves. Yokaze is overtaken by exhaustion and relaxes seemingly against her will into his arms. As she lies on top of him, one of her knees slides between his and her breaths pant softly against his throat. Trowa forces the fingers he's clenched in her hair to relax. Softly he sifts the slightly sweaty strands between his fingertips. But he cannot loosen his hold. Not yet. He is experiencing the distinctly unsettling sensation that neither of them has endured the worst of it yet.

Still, he knows his own tension will not help her now. With brutal efficiency, he wrestles his involuntary reactions down until he is calm. Perfectly, completely calm. But not controlled. He hovers on the fine line between the two knowing that his lover will not talk to him if she senses the slightest apprehension from him. But she will not reveal her true emotions to him if she senses any apathy, manufactured or not.

So they remain tangled around each other until Trowa is confident he has regained that place Yokaze needs him to be in. Only then does he change the purpose of his meandering murmurs.

"Yo..." He almost doesn't expect her to respond. But after a three full seconds, she does. He feels her rub her cheek against his shoulder in reply.

"Are you injured?"

A soft grunt of denial soaks into the fabric between them.

Trowa hesitates to offer to fetch an ice pack for her stomach. If she accepts, he'll have to move and it will give her time to compose herself. He does not want her to be composed. He wants her to be honest. He says nothing else. He waits. His hands move over her in an attempt to draw her out. He needs her reassurances, needs to know what has hurt her before he can help her.

He closes his eyes for a moment and prays. Although Trowa has never formally recognized a particular deity, that doesn't stop him from silently pleading for his lover's well-being... and for hoping his suspicions are unfounded.

"I'm sorry," she whispers after a time. "I don't know what happened..."

He doesn't reply. Not yet. He adjusts his arms around her and cradles the back of her skull.

"We were sparring. Everything was fine." She sighs. "Everything was under control."

Sensing she would let the conversation die here if he allowed it, Trowa prompts, "And then?"

She shakes her head. "Pain. Blinding pain." Although her voice is muffled, he hears every word perfectly, "I can't recall ever feeling..."

Trowa briefly squeezes his eyes shut before he rolls them over until he is hovering over her. With a deep breath, he gazes into her pale face. He withdraws one arm from around her back until he can settle his hand on her stomach. He wants to tell her how very sorry he is, but the words seem so trite. Trowa's fingers delve under her tank top before dipping just beneath the waistband of her sweatpants. For long moments, nothing further is said and it's not until Yokaze reaches for his hand and captures it with one of her own that he realizes he's been staring at her bruising flesh for several minutes.

"Triton?"

The sound of his name whispered with such hesitation unknots his vocal cords.

"I'm so sorry," he hears himself choke out. There are tears in his voice.

"For what?"

He blinks fiercely. "Last night... I... we..." He looks into her eyes and states, "We didn't use anything..."

"Anything..." she repeats blankly in an odd lifeless voice.

"Protection," he clarifies. "What if..." Trowa tries to force the sentence out but he can't seem to recall the order in which the words ought to be assembled. He stares at her in painful silence trying to convey his fear that for a few brief hours this morning Yokaze had carried the beginnings of their first child.

He tries to tell himself that he's being irrational. A blow to the stomach hours after conception is highly unlikely to have any effect on the collection of cells. But ever since he'd started working with the kids from C555... ever since he'd caught Yokaze's gaze as she'd watched him tutoring a little girl with gray eyes on how to fly a kite, he'd wanted... he'd _hoped_...

And now, what if fate had conspired to steal away this miracle just as Trowa has realized how very much he wants it? How very cruel that denial would be... but not unexpected. Even now he has days when he can scarcely believe he is no longer alone, that Yokaze had survived the plague, that she lived through the explosion on L1. He can only imagine the hells she has walked through barefoot to be alive today. To be with him.

His gaze searches her face and he knows the instant when she comprehends his meaning. And her reaction scares him.

With shaking hands, she pushes at his shoulders. "Off," she demands in an expressionless voice.

Shocked, he automatically complies. He watches her briskly swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Concerned that she is still in shock, he reaches out for her. His fingertips brush against her arm before she's out of range.

"Yokaze?"

Once again, she is standing at the window gazing out at the scattered collection of vehicles parked along the cobblestone drive.

He sits up on the bed and faces her profile. He has to be very careful now or she will shut him out. The silence allows him a moment to reevaluate the situation. She had probably not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant. He knows that this may be the reason for why she withdrew from him. At least she is still in the room with him, Trowa assures himself.

"Talk to me. Please," he breathes.

He watches her take a deep breath and he watches her wince as her abdominal muscles protest the strain. "That would make you happy, wouldn't it?" she asks without rancor. "If I were..." Her voice fades and she skips the crucial word entirely. "...from last night."

"No," Trowa softly replies. At the window, Yokaze holds her breath. "I would be overjoyed, rapturous, euphoric..."

Her reaction to his confession is not what he'd expected. She sways slightly where she stands. One arm unwraps around her middle and braces her against the window casing.

"Yokaze? What did I..." His words die on his tongue at the look she sends him.

"I can't..." Her fingers curl tightly around the antique molding. "I can't..."

Trowa meets her fearful gaze and tries to communicate his support without words or touch. A sound that is almost a cough escapes her.

"I can't deal with this right now."

Seeing the undiluted anguish in her eyes, Trowa knows precisely what she is trying to say. "Okay," he tells her. He knows he's pushed her as far as he dares. They will talk about this again later. He holds out a hand to her. "Come and lay down. You're shaking."

For a moment, it seems as if she's considering it. Considering him. He can see the moment she begins to feel inclined to refuse.

He tries one last time: "Please, Yokaze."

Again, that odd, wet cough issues forth from her. Finally, she nods and moves toward the bed. Relived beyond measure, Trowa settles her against the pillows. He spends several minutes simply staring down at her. His fingers gently comb her hair back from her face in time with his pulse. When at last, he has coaxed her into relaxing, he tells her, "I'm going to get you an ice pack now."

Wearily, she nods.

His fingertips sift through her hair and he leans down to press a kiss to her temple. He aches with all of the heavy, restless emotions she inspires in him. And as he leans back he hears himself give voice to them for the first time. In a tone of voice he reserves only for his lover, Trowa tells her unevenly, "I love you."

Yokaze inhales sharply as if he'd somehow caused her pain. But before he can respond to that, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a long, slow, deep kiss. The emotional ache thrumming in his body intensifies at the desperation she pours into him with that single act.

When at last she releases him, Trowa smoothes his thumb over her cheek and smiles for her. Knowing that if he's going to be able to stay strong for her, he'll need a minute to compose himself and having already promised to fetch her an ice pack, Trowa eases off of the bed. Yet even as he pulls away, he can't stop touching her, trying to reach that place in her soul where her darkness resides. Once, he would have been perfectly comfortable with not knowing his lover's dark secrets. But now he fears they may be destroying them. And Trowa refuses to lose this fight.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs and waits until she nods and closes her eyes. Trowa doesn't meet anyone in the upstairs hall or on the stairs. He hurriedly ducks into the study and leans against the wall. Closing his own eyes, he indulges in a moment of gut-wrenching fear. And when the moment has passed, he forces himself to formulate a plan, the first step of which includes delivering that ice pack.

...ooo...

**Heero tosses his** bag in the trunk and eases it shut. He does not look over his shoulder at the large, elegant house. He does not think about what he is leaving behind. He does not think about _who_ he is walking away from. _Running_ away from. _Again._

He refuses to contemplate Duo's brightly spoken, hasty interruption. He does not marvel at how easily so few words can kill a dream. He does not allow himself to remember the decisive refusal of his stammered offer. He does not want to hear the lingering echo of his own fumbling offer of himself to Duo Maxwell. He does not admit to how much the quick and decisive refusal had hurt. Still hurts.

Heero digs the keys out of his jeans' pocket and slides behind the wheel.

And nearly leaps out of his own skin.

His pulse racing and breath exploding from his lungs occupies his every thought for an almost endless second. And then he finally absorbs the sight of the figure buckled into the passenger seat.

Dark blue eyes regard him sheepishly. It's an apology for startling him.

He replies with a glare.

Yokaze's lips twitch into an almost smile.

Without a word, Heero inserts the key into the ignition.

For an instant, he considers asking her why she's coming with him. He doesn't even open his mouth before she turns and looks at him and he sees it: the mirror image of his own pain there in the depths of her soul echoing out through her eyes.

Heero swallows down his redundant question and puts the rental car in gear. He watches her glancing in the side-view mirror as if expecting an organized pursuit. But Heero is careful. The car creeps quietly down the drive until the path curves into the surrounding forest and the grand Portuguese home is no longer visible.

Out of sight and within the insulating depths of the trees, Heero settles his foot on the accelerator until the car is zooming along the highway at a speed well over the legal limit. Briefly, he wonders if his speeding is bothering her. He glances in her direction in time to watch her roll down her window, lean into the wind, and close her eyes.

**End of Chapter Ten**

**End of Part One**

**Author's Note:** So, ah, this would be the part where things start to get kinda angsty. Please refer back to Chapter One for WARNINGS. Basically, all I can promise at this point is no NCS. Everything else is fair game. Although I will _try_ to keep you from wanting to throw yourself off of a bridge or something... Reviews much appreciated and dutifully memorized for later enjoyment.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Iris

**Notes:** Okay, the concept for this story has undergone some serious revision since I started posting and it turns out that the "action" I promised is not going to be happening until Part III (which I have great expectations for). Now begins a lovely, even dose of angst as well as the... strangeness I mentioned in my notes at the beginning of Part I. I know some of you folks might be getting tired of Heero and Yokaze's disappearing act, but it's necessary for what's coming next. Feedback makes me happy and happy writers are a good thing. Trust me.

...ooo...

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Eleven: Iris_**

**"Hero?"** Jaspien pauses outside of the bedroom door and waits for a reply. After a long moment, he cautiously pushes the door open.

"Hero?" he asks again. This time, the emptiness of the room echoes back to him. His eyes widen and his gaze searches frantically for Hero's things. Just last night his blue duffel bag had been on that chair. And his shoes tucked beneath the bed _there._ The "Happy Halloween" card Jaspien had made him in school had been propped up against _that_ lamp. But there is no duffel. There are no shoes. Even the card has vanished.

But there _is_ something new. He steps toward the bed and collects the scrap of paper. It looks like a letter, but it's not addressed to anyone. Confused, Jaspien reads:

_"I just wanted you to know who I am. I'm sorry."_

For a moment, he doesn't understand. And then he does. And it _hurts._

He stuffs his knuckles in his mouth to keep the sob from coming out. He has to stay quiet. He can't let them know... he can't let _anyone _know when it hurts.

He closes his eyes and tries with every fiber of his being to swallow the pain. His shoulders shake with it. His chest is tight with it. For a moment, he's terrified that it won't fit inside him. And then what will he do?

Jaspien is so focused on fighting back against his weakness that he doesn't realize he's not alone until he's called.

"Jas? What is it, dude?"

His eyes open reflexively but, seeing the empty room, immediately close again. He wants to call out. He wants to throw himself into Duo's arms. But what he wants has never been the right thing – the _safe_ thing – to do.

"Jas?" Warm hands settle on his shoulders and by the direction of the grip, Jaspien knows that Duo has knelt down in front of him.

Still unable to allow a sound, he leans into those hands until Duo gathers him in his arms. The note, still clutched in Jaspien's small fist, crinkles.

"What have you got there?" Jaspien surrenders the note easily when Duo tugs on it. He presses himself closer to Duo's warmth and dares to throw both his arms around his neck. He waits, breath held, for Duo to read it. And he knows the exact moment when he does.

"Oh shit," Duo exhales shakily.

Jaspien rides out a bubble of a sob as Duo's arms wrap around him tighter. This is all the answer Jaspien needs to his unvoiced question. This is all Duo needs to do to tell him that Hero is gone.

...ooo...

**Trowa pauses,** his hand extended toward his and Yokaze's bedroom door. He tilts his head to one side, listening. It that... music? And... singing? A small smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. He imagines her lying back on the bed, concentrating completely on listening to the intricacies of the tune. Many lazy Sunday mornings and quiet weekday nights had been spent curled up in bed together, just listening.

Perhaps she is finally working through the tension that has held them apart. Perhaps this has resolved itself on its own. Perhaps all he needs to do is get in there and deliver her ice pack.

As the door swings open, the melody – no longer muffled – pours over him. He doesn't recognize it. Curious, he focuses on the singer's husky voice.

_"And you can't fight the tears that ain't comin'..._

_"Or the moment of truth in your lies..._

_"When everything feels like the movies..._

_"Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive..."_

Confused by the achingly melancholy lyrics, he turns toward the bed and realizes that his lover is no longer in it.

"Yokaze?"

He wanders over to the private bath and opens the door but finds this vacant as well. He is about to call her name again when the gentle melody of the song gives way to lyrics once again.

_"And I don't want the world to see me..._

_"'Cause I don't think that they'd understand..._

_"When everything's made to be broken..._

_"I just want you to know who I am..."_

This time, when he calls her name, he doesn't really expect a response.

"Yokaze?"

There is only silence, an empty drawer in the dresser, and a missing duffel bag for a reply.

_She's gone._

Caught between anger and sorrow, Trowa finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed. The ice pack is gone although he can't recall setting it down. Eyes closed, he leans his forehead into his hands and tries to scrub away the heat of these volatile emotions tearing him apart from the inside.

He doesn't know how long he remains there. He doesn't bother to count each painful breath. He stays where he is and silently curses her. If going after her would have done any good, he'd be behind the wheel of a car in seconds. But it isn't. And he won't.

From the stereo, the song dies and then starts again. She'd left it on repeat.

_"And I'd give up forever to touch you..._

_"'Cause I know that you feel me somehow..."_

Amazingly enough, those words which he would have been thrilled to hear from her lips an hour ago, only burn through him until every heartbeat hurts.

And then, suddenly, there is silence.

Trowa looks up, half hopeful that Yokaze will be standing in front of him with the stereo's remote control in her hands... but it's not Yokaze facing him now. It's Duo. Trowa takes in the sight of Jaspien wrapped around Duo's chest and the easy way Duo holds him. It's obviously not the first time Duo's had to pick the boy up.

Very quietly, Duo asks, "Is she gone, too?"

Trowa almost scowls. "Who else... Heero?"

Duo nods. "Yeah."

And then the situation seems to hit him. Shaking his head, Trowa demands, "What are you doing here?" The words bear confusion rather that confrontation.

Duo tells him, "I heard... the song."

Trowa arcs a brow and Duo silently offers him a piece of paper. Trowa takes it, reads it, and knows: "They left together."

Duo nods.

He hands the note back to Duo before he buries his hands deep in his hair. Once upon a time he'd been jealous of the way Heero and Yokaze had worked seamlessly together, of the fact that she unconsciously trusted her brother to guard her back. Once upon a time, he'd thought she's begun to trust him just as much.

_Had it all been a lie?_

Perhaps she hadn't meant it. Perhaps she'd simply been placating him. Perhaps...

"Perhaps we should get some of this mess cleaned up," Duo suggests softly.

"Mess?" Trowa looks up and follows Duo's gaze to the field of ice shards glinting along the hardwood floor. He traces their pattern up until he finds the impact point on the wall; a few water droplets are all that remains of the collision.

He shudders at the thought of having thrown something that hard – of reacting so violently – and having no corresponding memory of it.

"Come on, Tro. They'll be back."

And, for an instant, Trowa almost convinces himself that he's imagining the tentative quality in Duo's voice. But then Jaspien sobs quietly against his guardian's shoulder, shattering Trowa's pathetic attempt at a comforting illusion.

...ooo...

**The soft chime** of an incoming call interrupts the steady sound of fingertips pecking at two keyboards. With a slight frown, the conductor of the great machines that surround him suspends one of his operations and reaches for the communications unit.

He glances at the small screen identifying the location of the incoming call and frowns. Knowing a request for a vid feed would be denied, he simply opens an audio channel.

"This is unexpected," he says.

"I couldn't wait for our scheduled call."

"What's the emergency?"

"I need to keep an eye on a few friends of mine."

Still tapping out codes on one of the keyboards, the operator, replies with an arced brow, "Friends this time, eh? Branching out are you?"

"Are you concerned?"

He snorts. "Actually, I'm just trying to make conversation."

"It's not one of your... more accomplished talents."

"Try being blunt for a change, would you? It's not a talent at all. More like a handicap."

The answering silence relates the caller's agreement.

"So, these, ah, _friends_ you want me keep an eye on... Do I get their names or shall I start guessing?"

A short pause. "Heero and Yokaze Yuy."

The fingertips stumble to a halt over the keyboard, their sprightly dance interrupted. "The Yuys," he hears himself repeat, numb.

"You know them, then?"

Quickly rallying his composure, he replies, "I know _of_ them. Fought for the L1 colony rebels during the war."

Again, a short pause. "Indeed."

"So. Do I get last known coordinates and all that or what?"

A slight hesitation echoes over the line. The operator is wound so tight with tension that he starts at the soft chime of an incoming message. Closing his eyes for a moment, he attempts to summon a modicum of calm.

He forces himself to focus on the data now storming across the vid screen. His heart saddened, he replies in a neutral tone, "Looks like I've got everything I need."

"Good. I'll be in touch."

The soft buzz of static trickles from the speakers and the operator reluctantly reaches forward to close the channel. For a long moment, he sits, staring at the coordinates he doesn't need but had to ask for. He sits, contemplating this game – this deadly game of allegiances – he is about to begin.

He knows where his first loyalty lies. That has never been in question. The small collection of resistance fighters from his home colony had needed all the help they could get planning and executing their attacks on the Alliance and – later – Oz. He had ever been the one to spend endless hours – and sometimes days – in front of a computer attempting to crack many a military database. He had been so used to going without sleep that it had made him careless. And had gotten him captured.

He vividly recalls his time as a guest of Oz. And he very much wishes he could forget every moment. But the one bright light that had come to him in his darkest moment had happened on the battle station that had lingered in his home colony's shadow. He still remembers the exact sound of slick metal-on-metal his cell door had made when it had opened unexpectedly. He'd almost panicked; his execution couldn't have come this quickly... _surely_ he had more time... But the figure silhouetted on the threshold had not been his executioner. It had been his savior.

Proximity alarms had been blaring around them as the station shook from blast after blast after blast. He remembers the strong hands that had efficiently stuffed him into an astrosuit.

_"It's the Gundams, isn't it?"_

The only response he'd received had been a none-too-gentle shove in the direction of an evacuation pod.

_"Wait! At least tell me your name!"_

And then the hatch had been sealing closed, the pod rocketing through the acceleration chute and spinning out into space. He'd watched the battle from the single, tiny window in the pod. He'd witnessed the complete destruction of that Oz battle station. He'd wondered if that soldier had survived. During those long hours of silence as he drifted towards his home colony, he had realized that his rescuer must have been an undercover rebel. And he'd ached even more with the loss of life.

So, imagine his surprise when, not a month later, that same figure graced his doorstep and finally spoke.

_"I need a favor."_

His loyalty had been and always would be to his colony, but he hadn't hesitated to reply: _"I owe you my life. What do you need?"_

And thus their friendship had started. He'd even managed to get a name this time: Heero Yuy. And he had grossly understated her part in the war. And, as far as he'd known, she had only ever revealed the entirety of her role in the war to him. She had been completely invisible. As a hacker, that had intrigued him. How could it not? And then, one year after the final battle in '96, she'd stopped hiding in Gundam pilot 01's shadow and had named herself Yokaze.

Yokaze Yuy: the woman to whom he gives credit for every breath he's taken over the past nine years.

All through the war and then the Dekim Barton skirmish thereafter, he'd never had to balance his loyalties. But now... Now the one man to whom he'd sworn a lifetime of service has asked him to track the one woman to whom he owes a life-debt.

With a sigh of deep and aching regret, he brings the system online and taps out a command. In an instant, a map of Europe unfolds across the screen with a small, flashing light hovering near the border of Spain.

_Yokaze..._

Well, he'd found her. And he'll watch her.

Now he just has to decide how much he can report... while still managing not to flinch at the sight of his own reflection in the mirror.

**End of Chapter Eleven **

**Chapter Notes:** The song "Iris" is by the Goo Goo Dolls.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Confidence

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Twelve: Confidence_**

**Wufei steers clear** of the kitchen and his wife's rather creative ranting at being denied a "good-bye" from Yokaze. The sudden and vaguely explained disappearance of the two Yuys had hit everyone hard. Wufei knows Taki had been hoping to spend a bit more time with her best friend before Yokaze had returned to outer space. And he can guess what effect this situation is having on Barton, Maxwell, and the boy.

He shakes his head, wondering. In the courtyard that morning, Barton's threat had carried with it the weight of a man who will defend his lover – and the mother of his children – to the death. It had taken Wufei a moment to realize why Barton had reacted so strongly to something that would hardly result in more than a bruise. But then he'd understood: Yokaze has not yet told him _all _of her painful secrets.

In the wake of her absence, he is compelled to speculate. Had she finally told him? Had he reacted badly? Or had she run from the truth entirely? Wufei cannot tactfully ask even though his investigative instincts are chaffing at him to do so.

But even as abrupt and unforeseen as Yokaze's disappearance had been, Heero's is even more so. After all, he'd only just arrived. He'd only just seen Maxwell and the boy for the first time in months. Wufei sighs, sensing that something had transpired that had caused Heero's flight as well, but knows it is not his place to ask. He can only make himself available in the hopes that the others will confide in him.

He is passing the small study on his way to the staircase when a movement from within causes him to pause. Abruptly, he changes his destination and wanders into the room. The movement he had sensed had been Quatre rising from the chair seated directly behind a vid phone. Although the executive is now hovering near a window, Wufei is sure of what he'd seen.

"Who were you calling at this hour? I thought we'd covered all the bases earlier today."

At the sound of his voice, Quatre had visibly jumped. Wondering at what the man could have been so engrossed in, Wufei moves to the window as well.

"Hm? Oh, just checking in. The day's just getting started in L4."

Wufei makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat but says nothing else. He waits, wondering what his troubled friend is thinking, hoping he'll feel the need to confess it.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Quatre finally says.

"What is?" Wufei counters.

"The note and the song. The same message but different mediums."

Wufei feels his eyebrows rise in quiet surprise. "You're not surprised they took off, then?"

Quatre sends him a reproving glance. "Of course I am. We all are."

A long moment of silence follows this. Wufei does not make too much of an effort to hide his skepticism.

"Do you know something that you haven't told us?" Wufei asks with a quiet intensity.

Quatre has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Um, not really..."

"What is it? Do you know why Heero left?"

Wufei watches Quatre cross his arms over his chest and debate his next words. "No..." he begins hesitantly, "but I think he left that note with one person in mind."

"It wasn't addressed," Wufei points out.

"He didn't want to address it," Quatre counters with a troubled expression. "He didn't want to make the pain more... real."

"You know who it was meant for," Wufei challenges.

Quatre meets his gaze. "I can guess."

Wufei lets out a breath. "So can I."

Another beat of silence comes and goes before Quatre asks, "Should we talk to him about it?"

Wufei snorts. "I doubt it would do any good. The name 'Maxwell' is a euphemism for 'stubborn.'"

A slight grin curves Quatre's mouth. "He'd skin us alive if he knew we could see how much he cares about Heero."

"It was impossible to miss," Wufei mutters.

"Then perhaps it's Heero we should be speaking to."

Wufei sends a sidelong glance in Quatre's direction. "The next time I see him, I'll be happy to inform him of the torch Maxwell carries for him. Until then, there's not much we can do about it."

Quatre nods.

But Wufei notices that the gesture is not as ready as it would normally have been. In fact, that look in Winner's eyes... Wufei waits for him to speak, but in the end they wind up staring out the window until Quatre retreats for the night.

Wufei watches him go and wonders about that look in his eyes. He wonders what Quatre would have said and wonders what could stop a former Gundam pilot from confiding in a fellow comrade. Wonders exactly when Quatre Winner had started keeping secrets from his closest friends.

...ooo...

**It's nearly ****ten o'clock** but Duo doesn't bother to try to tuck Jaspien into bed. He doesn't try to reassure him with words of dubious sincerity. He does not attempt to distract him with a story. He sits on the balcony he'd discovered that morning with a sleeping boy draped across his chest and lap and watches the stars crawl across the sky.

A soft wind stirs and Duo tightens his arms around Jaspien softly double checking to make sure the afghan hasn't slumped away from the small form lying so trustingly against the present-day mechanic.

Duo leans his cheek against Jaspien's breeze-tossed hair and sighs. God, when had life become such an obstacle course? When had it started to hurt so much? When had he started acquiring scars on his soul so easily?

He knows that he's mad at Heero for taking off again. Or rather, he knows he _will_ be mad at Heero... right after he manages to stop the gaping, invisible wounds from aching.

"Do you realize what time it is?"

Duo looks up in time to see Trowa slide into the seat next to his. The flat tone of the man's voice disturbs Duo but he knows he's not one to complain. Everyone handles pain differently.

"Is it time for Jell-O?" he quips.

Trowa snorts. "It's always time for Jell-O."

Somehow, the joke sounds even worse with Trowa playing along. Duo hears himself let out a long breath. "Shit."

Trowa waits several heartbeats before responding to that astute observation: "Yeah."

Minutes roll lethargically past in silence that is bloated and aching until Trowa elaborates, "What the hell happened today, Duo?"

For a moment, Duo considers replying with something blunt and mean-spirited, but he swallows the bitterness down at the last moment. "I have no fucking clue, man."

Duo is slightly startled to hear Trowa heave a great – almost moaning – sigh and lean forward until his fingers burrow into his short hair. After a moment of watching the almost tangible anxieties chew at Trowa, Duo bites his lip and reluctantly offers, "I don't get it either... One minute I was standing right here with Heero and it was like none of that crap from C555 had happened. And then... I could kinda see it, you know? He remembered..."

Unable to go on, Duo lapses into silence. Trowa, however, had stopped trying to twist his hair out by the roots and is studying him intently. "Duo?"

Duo's gaze snaps to Trowa's and he feels himself giving Yokaze's lover a sheepish expression. God, he _really_ doesn't want to talk about this...

"Talk to me, Duo."

He battles briefly with the lump in his throat before managing, "Your turn."

Trowa snorts. For a minute, Duo thinks he's actually managed to club the conversation to death. He's very startled when Trowa tells him, "Things have been... off between Yokaze and me for a while. She was hurting and she wouldn't tell me why. But I could see it. First it was just when we were interviewing the kids, but then this last case – when we reunited this little girl and her family – she was in complete agony." Trowa shakes his head. "I thought it was the missions... at first."

"At first?" Duo finds himself saying.

Trowa nods. He then glances at Duo out of the corner of his eye and informs him, "Tag."

Duo almost laughs. Almost. Instead he says, "Heero kissed me. On C555."

"The night you planted the explosives?"

"No... Right before the evacuation."

"And you're thinking it was something done in the heat of the moment."

"Well..." Duo drawls, "it was the first time we'd been back in the field in _years_."

Trowa shakes his head, disbelieving. This particular reaction prods something else to the forefront of Duo's mind.

"Hey, why aren't you surprised Heero, like, _kissed_ me?"

Trowa's brows inch upward. "Please tell me you're not _that_ oblivious, Duo," Trowa replies with dead calm.

"I... guess I am." Duo waits for Trowa to elaborate but runs out of patience before Trowa speaks again. "What the hell, man? Clue me in already."

Trowa sighs. "I highly doubt Heero's feelings for you are that shallow."

Unsure of what to make of that, Duo says, "It's not like they were that shallow to being with. We're friends, you know? Best friends. At least... we _were._"

Again, they lapse into silence. A pointed look from Duo is followed by a roll of Trowa's eyes. Yokaze's lover gracefully continues his own tale, "I tried everything to get Yokaze to talk to me. I was even hopeful that the costume Taki made for me might... I don't know... initiate something."

Duo chuckles. "Oh, from what I heard, it initiated _plenty._"

"Pervert."

Duo grins unrepentantly.

The muscles along Trowa's jaw tense briefly. "I was hoping we'd break through this... wall that's between us. But it didn't happen."

Trowa shakes his head and Duo's heart goes out to the guy.

"Have you ever seen Yokaze cry?"

Duo blinks at the sudden question. "What?"

Trowa fixes his gaze on Duo. "Have you ever seen her let her guard down?"

Duo opens his mouth to deny it – hell, the very _idea_ of Yokaze being vulnerable is laughable – but then he remembers the way she'd been too weak to fight back the nightmares when she'd been forced to ride the wake of the plague. He temporizes, "Not consciously, no."

Trowa stiffens slightly and Duo curses his tactless response. He calls himself a dozen different kinds of fool for leaving such an obvious opening. Trowa is sure to question him further about it... and how is he supposed to answer when he'd promised to keep Yokaze's secrets for her? But, to Duo's surprise, Trowa simply continues on with his point.

"She's always so controlled. So strong. But she's my lover. There are times when I know she's hurting but she won't let me... She just pushes me away. Or hides. Part of me thinks she doesn't even acknowledge that she's _capable_ of being vulnerable. That she just won't allow it of herself. But... part of me thinks this is just a symptom of a larger problem... That she'll allow me to guard her life and share her passion, but she still doesn't _trust_ me."

"Oh, shit, Tro..." Duo flounders for something to say. He studies the form of his friend as Trowa looks away, studying the darkness beyond as a pretext to getting himself under control. With a sigh, Duo reluctantly reveals the next portion of his own story.

"Heero said he owed me the truth, which was that I had been the best friend he'd ever _had._ Not _have._ _Had._" Duo sighs, struggling to keep his voice even. "After months of wondering what was going to happen between us – wondering how that kiss was going to change things – he'd decided we weren't friends anymore. I just couldn't..." Duo forces another deep breath. "I just couldn't listen... anymore."

Another moment of silence settles between them before Trowa asks, "What did you say, Duo?"

"What makes you think that I..." Duo's voice trails off at the look Trowa gives him. "Okay, true. The best defense is a good offense and all that." He valiantly resists the urge to grind his teeth together. "Okay. I told him not to worry about that kiss. It was in the past, you know? Forgotten. We could just... Trowa?" Duo asks, startled at the other man's sudden, intense expression.

"Do you hear yourself? Are you listening to what you're saying, Duo?" Trowa asks with deceptive calm.

Duo frowns and opens his mouth.

"Forget about it," Trowa repeats deliberately. "It wasn't important. As in you want to pretend it never happened. As in you want to forget Heero ever felt inclined to..."

Scowl deepening, Duo protests, "But Heero'd just told me–"

"Heero had just told you that you had been his best friend. That doesn't necessarily mean he wanted you out of his life, Duo. It's a statement of the past. A fact. No more, no less."

Duo opens his mouth, closes it, then reconsiders. "I can't... I can't pretend it didn't happen."

"I'm not surprised," Trowa replies. "You've loved him for a long time."

Stricken, Duo mouths, "You _knew?_"

"I think all of us did. Except Heero. Oblivious asshole."

Duo gapes. It takes him a very long moment to absorb all of that. And then: "A fine pair we are. Your lover doesn't trust you and I'm so terrified of rejection that I..." Duo groans. "Ah, fuck, Trowa. What have I done?"

Duo leans into the warm hand that settles on his shoulder. For a long moment, neither man speaks. Jaspien's soft breathing is the only sound.

"We never should have gotten out of bed today, Tro." Duo shakes his head. "And the bitch of it is that if Yokaze had just taken that hit _before_ I'd opened my big mouth, Heero might still be here."

Trowa frowns. "I don't follow."

"Well, right after I said my bit about forgetting that... _stuff_ ever happened, Yokaze went down. Then Heero left."

"And then Yokaze left," Trowa murmurs in speculative silence. He glances at Duo. "I've watched Yokaze spar more times than I can count. I've never seen her lose her concentration. I've never seen her falter. But that's exactly what she did. Wufei's fist was already in motion and she just... lost it."

Duo scowls. "Right when I was telling Heero...?"

"So it would seem."

"What... what are you getting at?"

Trowa looks up from the contemplation of his clasped hands. "Could she have heard you?"

Duo shakes his head. "No, man. Totally not possible."

Trowa's shoulders rise and fall as he releases an explosive breath. "I'm going crazy over this," he says, dully.

This time, Duo reaches for Trowa's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "They'll come back, ya know? They always come back..." But the assurance sounds hallow, even to his own ears.

Still, they both know that those words are the best they can hope for and both know to quit when they're ahead. Side by side, they remain focused on counting the stars in the night sky.

...ooo...

**Heero and Yokaze** are not tired, but they stop for the night. Neither makes the initial suggestion. Neither expresses any preference about where they want to stay. This, like their earlier encounter, is decided in silence.

They do not seem bothered by it.

Yokaze rents the room. Heero orders something for them to eat. She does not ask him which side of the bed he prefers before she lies back and contemplates the sun-faded curtains. He does not ask her what she wants to eat before choosing one dinner for himself.

They do not ask because they do not have to.

The size of the bed is more than adequate for both of them and they rest with their backs pressed together. Heero inhales as Yokaze exhales. Their heartbeats are steady, synchronized. Their muscles deliberately relaxed. Together, they concentrate on existing around their respective heartaches.

They do not sleep.

It almost feels as if they no longer need to.

**End of Chapter Twelve**

**Author's Notes:** Okay, I know it's not "There's always time for Jell-O" it's actually "There's always _room_ for Jell-O," but – dammit – work with me here, people.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Searching for Solace

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Thirteen: Searching for Solace_**

**Thirty-six hours.**

Wufei leans back in his chair and stares at the silent and unhelpful vid phone. Absently, he slides one hand over his tightly bound hair and sighs. The meager sound is swallowed up by the cavernous maze of halls and rooms. The silence makes him anxious.

It's been forty-eight hours since these walls had alternately softened and amplified laughter. He briefly wishes he'd known that a mere twelve hours after those moments of undiluted joy things would take such a turn...

Thirty-six hours.

Of silence.

The first day they had waited, Barton had said nothing. He'd waited in icy silence – his anger carefully disguised – for his lover to call, to come home. Maxwell had spoken infrequently. He'd only bothered to throw off the slowly tightening hold of depression to reassure the boy... and perhaps himself.

Barton had felt betrayed, frustrated, injured by his lover's decision to run from him.

Maxwell had felt guilty, defeated, miserable by his best friend's choice to leave again.

Wufei had understood. After all, their reactions had been very understandable.

But today, things had been different.

Barton had been defeated, hopeless, sullen.

Maxwell had been tense, angry, irritable.

Wufei no longer understands.

He leans his head into his hands and frowns as his hair spills over his shoulders and across his hands. When had he removed his hair tie? He glances at the floor surrounding his chair and a broken length of silk-wrapped elastic tumbles out of his collar. He twists it between the fingers of his left hand and wonders how long he's been sitting here while his mind had been wandering over the past two days.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs draws Wufei's attention. Eager for a distraction, he listens to the steady pattern, not recognizing the sound of this person's locomotion.

_One of the NW members,_ he surmises.

He watches as, a heartbeat later, Mark strides past the open door to the study and continues toward the front door. Thinking it would be unforgivably rude not to thank the musician for coming all this way to perform at the wedding, he rises and moves toward the door. Just as he steps into the hall, he sees Mark come to an abrupt halt in the foyer beyond. There, leaning against the front door with his jacket on and keys in his hand, is Luke.

"Hey, man. Takin' off?"

Mark hesitates before replying with a certain amount of reluctance, "Yes."

"Cool. Me, too. Gimme a ride and I'll be your best friend," the blonde promises, gamely ignoring Mark's uncooperative manner.

A moment of heavy silence vibrates in the air between them. Slowly, Mark draws a breath and nearly implores, "Luke... I'm not... We're not friends."

Surprisingly enough, Luke doesn't seem bothered by this. "You totally suck at lying, man. C'mon. Get your ass in the car."

"Luke, listen to me–"

"No," the percussionist replies with quiet strength. "We _are_ friends and you _are_ as tenacious as I think you are _and_ I'm going to prove it to you."

"And exactly how do you plan to accomplish all of that while we're at opposite ends of the Earth Sphere?"

By way of an answer, Luke holds up a ticket purchase confirmation for...

_"__Cairo__?"_ Mark breathes out.

Luke grins. "Never been there so I figured I'd go two for two..." He shrugs eloquently. "Besides, it seems like an expensive place to live. You're gonna need a roomie."

"Luke, you _can't_–"

Once again, Mark's protest is scattered. Luke steps away from the door and says very softly, his entire being intent on the eloquently dressed musician in front of him, "I _am_, Mark. I _am_."

Wufei remains frozen on the threshold of the study and watches as Luke opens the front door, tilts his head to one side and says, "After you."

Looking a little shaken, Mark sweeps past him and starts for the collection of vehicles in the drive. As Luke pivots to pull the door closed behind him, he catches Wufei's eye. Remembering his excuse for hovering in the hallway, Wufei nods and tells him, "Thank you for all you've done for my wife and I, Mr. Goldfeld."

"No, Agent Chang," the blonde says with a predatory glint in his eyes, "thank _you._"

Wufei covers his surprise at this unexpected reply by saying, "You won't be very thankful if you miss your ride."

"I won't," Luke replies. He holds up one hand and jingles the set of keys meaningfully.

Wufei chuckles and then Luke is gone.

The silence descends once again.

When Wufei catches himself wandering back into the study with both of his hands buried in his hair, he knows he has to find another distraction. Immediately. He turns neatly on his heel and marches out into the house, searching for his wife. Perhaps he can pick a fight...

He almost walks right past the now-clean dinning room without stopping. Almost. Following the hint of a figure seated on the terrace beyond, he alters his course. Brushing the gauzy curtains aside, Wufei finds himself in a painting. The myriad of tiny lights twinkle above his wife who alternates her attention between them and the portable easel propped up on her folded legs. The brush in her hand glides over the paper, coaxing the lights above to make their nests at the tip of the soft bristles. He watches for a moment and retreats slowly, unwilling to mar that perfect almost-masterpiece.

But just as he turns to walk away, he spies one of the many disposable cameras that had been left out with the sole purpose of documenting their wedding night. Grinning softly, he scoops one up and brushes the curtains aside once more. If Taki hears the click of the shutter, she doesn't look up. In fact, she barely reacts when Wufei sits behind her and presses his chest to her back. She shifts slightly so he can rest his chin on her shoulder but gives no other acknowledgement of his presence. Wufei doesn't mind. This alone is sufficiently distracting. Even if it is rather quiet.

...ooo...

**"Duo?"** Bisho hesitates in the doorway to her brother's room. She's never seen him like this. She's never seen him so... cold. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he responds absently, moving restlessly around his room, straightening various items that are perfectly fine right where he'd put them days ago. "What time does your flight leave in morning?"

She blinks. "What?"

"Your flight," he repeats patiently. "In the morning. Back to L4 with Quatre. When does it leave?"

"Um... nine-thirty... Duo..."

"Hm?"

She almost asks if he'd like for her to stay with him, but knows the answer to that question before she's even asked it. She states with a shrug, "But, you know, this is my first trip to Earth. Maybe I'll stay a little longer..."

Duo still doesn't look at her. "You've got to get back to school, Bish."

"So?"

He crosses his arms and glares out the window into the darkness. "So you've got to go back. The Earth will still be here when the winter break rolls around."

She shakes her head at his indifference. "But–"

"Becoming an engineer is your dream, Bisho. I told you not to let go of the things you want."

The reminder is nearly a physical blow. Two evenings ago, he'd reached through his own pain and basically told her she'd be an idiot to screw up her budding relationship with Quatre. _Don't let him go,_ he'd said. And now he stands here telling her it would be a mistake to not go back to L4 with him.

Into her uncertain silence, he tells her with surprising calm and candor, "I'll be fine, Bisho. Go back to L4 with Quatre."

She looks up and is relieved to see him standing still, watching her. She searches his face for confirmation.

And he gives it to her: "Call me when you get there, okay?"

She lets out a breath, relieved that her brother seems to be acting a little less like an asshole, and smiles. "Okay."

Bisho wishes him a good night and wanders away. She does not know that once she and most of the other house guests are asleep, he will creep downstairs and meet a green-eyed man in the kitchen. She does not know there will be two more empty bottles of rum in the waste basket by morning. She does not know that her brother had simply wanted her gone, had wanted the night to begin so that he might vent his anger with someone who understands. She does not know any of these things. She does not even suspect.

...ooo...

**They'd traveled** all night and on through the morning to end up here: in a modest cemetery beside a forgotten chapel just outside a lost little town in the French countryside. They'd followed – with uncharacteristic blind faith – the pull that had beckoned them here. To this specific grave. To the plaque commemorating a man – an Alliance soldier – who had died defending this remote populace from a rebel attack.

For years they had both known the name of their father. But seeing the raised letters etched in granite burns the truth into them. In silence they stand side by side, shoulders almost touching, and stare as if they could draw his forgotten essence into their minds as easily as they memorize the sight of his name:

_Lieutenant Captain Benjiro Mori_

The stark letters go on to spell out the dates bracketing his short life, his dedication as a father, and a soldier of the people. And the people of this town have not forgotten him. The siblings take in the carefully tended arrangement of autumn flowers warming the earth at the base of the plaque. There is also a single sunflower that has begun to wilt lying across the grave. And a few polished stones left on the raised ledge of granite.

It is obvious these people have been tending to their father's grave. They pause in their thoughts and sort through their emotions, trying to decide how they feel about this.

"Hey!"

As one, they look up. They are not pleased that their first visit to their father's burial site should be interrupted like this.

If the blond woman notices their dark expressions, she does not heed the warning therein. Steadily, she approaches. "What are you doing here?"

Her uniform is a surprise. Perhaps a better question is: what is a regional sheriff doing at this humble graveyard?

Neither brother nor sister responds verbally. They do not feel the need to explain themselves to this stranger. They will visit their father's grave if they feel so inclined. And, as a matter of fact, they _do_ feel so inclined.

The sheriff suddenly halts in her approach but it is not because of anything the siblings have or have not done. She draws a breath and her frown of confusion vanishes only to be replaced by a bright smile of recognition. "Ossia? Fiero?"

They recognize these words as names. Their names. From a lifetime ago.

"My God," the sheriff continues, a little awed. "It _is _you!" In the next instant, the woman is standing in front of them, fairly glowing. "It's been... damn, twenty years! But I remember you. I remember."

The soft, fierce affection in her voice moves the brother and sister in ways mere words never could.

The sheriff reaches for them, her fingers closing gently over their hands in greeting. "It's so good to have back. Welcome home."

**End of Chapter Thirteen**


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Reunion

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Being_**

**_Chapter Fourteen: _****_Reunion_**

**"You know us?"** one of Benjiro Mori's children asks.

The sheriff's smile shines even more brightly. "Of course I do! Fiero, you and I used to play together when you visited! And, oh my God, I had the biggest case of hero worship for you, Ossia," she confides, alternately turning to address each sibling directly. She sighs happily, shaking her head in wonderment. "I just can't believe you're actually here. We were afraid we'd lost both of you during the war."

Those last words are spoken with a significant measure of sorrow. The siblings silently concede that, evidently, a lot _had_ been lost in the war. Like their recollections of this place and this woman. They glance at the small pin engraved with her surname. It does not seem familiar.

One of them asks, "Why are you here?"

The other challenges, "You followed us."

The sheriff shrugs loosely but she does not deny the accusation. "No offense meant. We've had some problems with the local kids getting bored and coming out here to 'celebrate' your father's memory." She grins wryly. "I somehow doubt getting high and using various shades of lipstick on the memorial plague is something the lieutenant-captain would have appreciated."

The siblings snort softly in agreement.

"Where are you staying?" the sheriff asks suddenly.

They tense. "We haven't gone into town yet."

She grins. "I know some people who'd love to see you..."

Thoughtful frowns grace their brows. "Friends of our father?"

The sheriff chokes back a laugh. "I suppose you could say that." She nods toward the small, dirt parking lot where her police cruiser is sitting beside their rental car. "Just follow me," she invites, then pauses to promise, "You won't regret it."

...ooo...

**Bisho has known** Quatre Winner for years. Since that moment in Yokaze's apartment so long ago when he'd caught her trying to run, when he'd coaxed her into telling him why she'd been so afraid of a life with Duo, when he'd held her while she'd cried she had been his friend. She had tried to cheer him up when he'd been despondent. She'd attempted to bring some spontaneity and charming weirdness into his life. She'd endeavored to give back a portion of the hope he'd nurtured to life within her own black, jaded, little soul. As a child of the streets, she'd developed rather good instincts regarding people. As a friend of this man, she'd studied him very closely, knowing he would never "burden" her with his own troubles. So, she'd like to think she knows Quatre R. Winner fairly well.

Which is why his current behavior is frustrating the hell out of her.

"Quatre, did you hear what I just said? _Quatre?_"

She can see him focus on her with an almost audible _snap._ "I apologize, Bisho. You were asking about my schedule next week?"

She shakes her head. Her university's upcoming banquet and lecture in honor of a prestigious visiting engineering scholar is instantly assigned a lower priority. "Quatre, what is going on? Are you all right? You've been spacing since... well, since Heero and Yokaze took off."

Quatre smiles for her, but she quickly identifies it as his "boardroom" smile. This, more than anything else, scares her. Since when had Quatre stopped being _real_ with her?

He tells her, "I'm just a little concerned. Trowa, Duo, and Jaspien seemed to be taking it really hard."

She notices how Quatre's gaze had wandered toward the shuttle window. His reluctance to make eye contact ties her muscles into even tighter knots. She doesn't believe that's _all_ that's bothering him. And she knows _he_ knows she doesn't buy it.

With a heavy sigh, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs his attention back to her. "Look, Winner," she says quite clearly. "I know there are some things you _can't _tell me. Corporate secrets and all that. But can you promise me you won't let whatever's bothering you go? You'll get _someone_ to share the load with you, won't you?"

Beside her, Quatre's features soften as he studies her worried expression. Gently, he draws a fingertip over the appearance of a slight frown line on her brow. "I'd hoped to give you laugh lines..." he muses softly. "I am sorry I've worried you."

One corner of her mouth kicks up into a wry grin. "I notice you haven't promised to not work yourself into an early grave."

He replies with a smile of his own. "But you give me plenty enough incentive to avoid it at all costs."

"Just... take it easy there, Mr. CEO," she replies, still not distracted by his vague attempts to placate her. "You've got a plan for us. I'd like for you to be around to make good on it." She drawls, "Having our first kiss in a psychiatric ward with you in a funny, white, hug-yourself jacket is _so_ not gonna cut it."

Quatre laughs and groans in mock disappointment. "Looks like it's back to the drawing board..."

Shaking her head, Bisho leans against his shoulder and Quatre automatically lifts his arm to tuck her against his side. His fingers comb gently through the long strands of her loose hair as they watch the darkness speed past in a silence tinged with temporary compromise.

...ooo...

**They pull over** onto the curb and wait. Just ahead of them, the sheriff is climbing out of her car in front of a pleasant-looking two-story house on a quiet side-street just off of the main road through town. Although this home with its well-tended garden and slightly-weathered siding looks innocuous enough, they are wary.

They watch as the woman strides up a short path of cobblestones toward the front porch. Her steps are light and her shoulder-length hair gleams in the sunlight as she ascends. Before she can knock, however, the screen door opens and a small, elderly woman emerges. She seems a little surprised to see the sheriff on her front porch, but once her gaze travels away from the uniform to the woman's face, her smile is warm.

Both are too far away for the siblings to read their lips, but a moment later, an old man joins the woman in the doorway. They glance at each other in confusion as the sheriff turns and waves at the brother and sister, gesturing for them to approach.

They do not have to consult each other to know the danger here is minimal. Curious as to the identity of these people, they climb out of the car and step onto the sidewalk.

The old woman gasps. The old man swallows.

The siblings hesitate.

But then the sheriff calls out, "Come on, you two. We haven't got all day, you know."

They each arc a brow at that.

Beside the sheriff, the elderly woman grabs distractedly for her husband's arm. His own gnarled hand covers hers and they watch in silence as the brother and sister continue their approach, although with a bit more caution. It seems to take forever for them to traverse the short distance to that veranda and they find themselves standing next to each other on the top step, ready to flee at the first sign of subterfuge.

"Sweet Lady of Mercy," the old woman chokes out. "It really _is_ them."

"Of course it is," the sheriff replies softly. "I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"Fiero. Ossia," the old man says, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions.

They hesitate before taking a half a step forward. They intend to offer their hands to these distraught strangers but they do not get the chance. Suddenly, they are being pulled into those frail arms. Suddenly, there are kisses against their cheeks and foreign tears cooling against their skin. Overwhelmed but not threatened, the brother and sister allow the greetings and feel frustrated at their inability to identify these two people who obviously care very much for them.

...ooo...

**"All done torturing yourself** for the day?" Duo asks without looking up. He shifts against the tree trunk he's lounging against and the dried grass beneath his and Jaspien's picnic blanket crinkles with the movement.

Still standing just beyond Duo's line of sight, Trowa asks softly, "What makes you ask that?"

Duo chuckles. The last few days it's been a sound lacking mirth and light. "I heard that song Yokaze left you being played when I passed your door." He finally looks away from the uniform lines of the orchard and regards Trowa with narrowed eyes. "On repeat."

For a moment, Trowa doesn't say anything. He simply lowers himself to the blanket. Finally, he asks, "I meant, what makes you think I'm done torturing myself for the day?"

Duo sighs and allows his head to drop back against the tree. "Yeah, you _are_ talking to me, after all. Something many would consider a fate worse than death. So... what? You've just graduated up to another form of voluntary torment?"

Trowa draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "Something like that."

Movement in the distance announces Jaspien's presence. Duo had sent him off on an errand to look for any left over apples and it has, apparently, turned into something requiring the boy to climb as many trees as possible. Neither man continues the conversation for a while. They listen to the sound of the breeze in the trees. The far-off scrape of a small pair of tennis shoes against bark. The soft, mindless applause of the leaves rattling together.

"So," Duo hears himself ask. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For a time, it seems as if Trowa doesn't care to respond let alone actually speak. But then: "A few months ago, shortly after our first date, I decided to tell her about the darkest moment of my life."

Duo raises a brow and glances at his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"She wouldn't let me," he continues, voice expressionless. "She told me she would never ask. Not because she thought knowing my secrets would change how she felt about me, but because they were mine and mine alone." He shakes his head slightly. "I've never known that kind of... unconditional acceptance before. I was... amazed by it."

"Who wouldn't be?" Duo asks on the softest of whispers.

Trowa continues as if he hadn't heard. "But you know what?" He pauses but it's clear that the question is rhetorical. "I wanted to tell her anyway." His arms tighten around his shins and his eyes narrow as he forces out the next words, "I wanted to be open... clean..."

"Free..." Duo agrees, knowing that longing intimately.

"Every day, I had to fight the urge to tell her. The longer I fought it, the more it seemed like a limitation she'd placed on me... on us." Trowa sighs. He blurts softly, "What kind of person gets angry over such total acceptance?"

Duo considers this. "You're not wrong to be angry, Tro. You had a need to share yourself with her and she wouldn't – or _couldn't_ – meet that need." He pauses and feels out the idea just beginning to form on his tongue. "Perhaps you're angry not because she offered such blind acceptance but because you sensed she hasn't yet learned to accept the darkness within herself."

Trowa frowns. "So she refused me something she couldn't offer me in return... Was it deliberate?"

Duo can't answer that. But he does say, "Who knows, man. Yokaze's one of the greatest strategists I've ever met. Hell, if it came down to her and Quatre, I wouldn't be sure who I'd put my money on. But, on the other hand, she was trained like Heero. If a personal flaw came to his attention, he'd move the Earth and the colonies to eliminate it..." Duo trails off and sighs. He's not entirely happy with his speculations because that's all they are. And Duo knows that both he and Trowa are rapidly approaching the point where they'll require a few honest answers.

**End of Chapter Fourteen**

**Chapter Notes:** It belatedly occured to me that a few of you who are following this story might not have read "Mission One" recently. Anyway, Trowa's "darkest moment"... that's from MO. You know, the flashbacks about his past? Just thought I'd put reminder here, just in case.

**Author's Notes:** I want to send out a couple of big "Thank You's" to anissa32 and Stacey for their recent reviews. Even though Heero and Yokaze are being frustrating, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. No need to worry though. Before this is all over, I'll straighten them out. But in the meantime... more of that strangeness I promised at the beginning of Part I is on the way.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Far From Home

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Fifteen: Far From Home_**

**Wufei folds his arms **across his chest and frowns that view afforded him by the window. He considers the two figures seated beneath a gnarled apple tree on the edge of the orchard and feels his frustration swell. Had Taki suddenly left him, he would most assuredly _not_ be sitting on his ass under a tree. In fact, he remembers all too well the time she _had_ tried to self-destruct. Although he's not cold, a chill unfolds from his gut at the memory.

He's tempted to go out there and give Maxwell and Barton a good talking-to. Very tempted. Not only would he be informing them of what he believes to be a severe tactical error on their part, but he'd also be distracting himself from the knowledge that he'd nearly lost the love of his life before he'd really opened his heart to her.

Regardless, he needs to do _something_ to keep himself from thinking these disgustingly sentimental thoughts. He almost snorts as he wonders if this is a side-effect of being a newly-wed.

With a great deal of effort, Wufei does not march out into the orchard to lecture his friends. Instead, he returns to the often-used study to check his messages. He settles into the large, leather-upholstered chair behind the desk with a small smile. He's not sure he'll be able to go back to his spindly office chair after enjoying this indulgence.

He activates the vid screen and types in the necessary codes. A few moments later, he is scrolling through various voice and mail messages. There is – of course – nothing from the Yuys. But his fingers pause over the keys when he realizes that he _does_ have a message from something he'd nearly forgotten about...

Wufei allows himself a moment to listen to the house. He'd last seen Taki sketching in the courtyard and the remainder of the guests had either left that morning or are contemplating the orchard; he's alone. Sure of his privacy, Wufei opens the file and studies the data therein.

For the past few weeks, Wufei had been waiting for an opportunity to install a small remote transmitter in Une's personal computer but it hadn't been until his second-to-last day before his vacation that he'd had his chance. Now the results of that risky venture wait for him to decode them at his leisure. He knows that if he's caught he'll lose his job. He could very likely be imprisoned for this. He'd be lying if he said that didn't matter to him. But his only other option – sitting back and doing nothing – is not something he can, in good conscience, allow himself to do. Thus, with a deep breath, Wufei begins – in earnest – his investigation of his boss.

During his first few attempts to decipher the nonsense before him, he has a fleeting thought of the Yuys and their enviable hacking skills. For a moment, he considers sending out an All Points Bulletin on their rental car to the local European police agencies. But no. He'll give this a try for a few days before he disturbs them.

But then again, he might try to find them anyway if for no other reason than to persuade them to get their asses back here and deal with Maxwell and Barton. He almost smiles as he remembers how he'd managed to help Maxwell and Winner mend their altercation over Bisho several months ago. But Wufei doubts that a verbal ass-kicking is going to be enough to fix _this_ miscommunication.

...ooo...

**He listens** for the sounds of her breathing over the persistent hum of the shuttle's engines but has to settle for timing the gentle expansions and contractions of her ribs before he can be sure she is asleep.

For the first time since he'd boarded the shuttle, Quatre Winner allows himself to relax. With Bisho sleeping under his arm, he is finally free to let his thoughts meander where they will.

The Yuys. Heero and Yokaze. Quatre considers the darkness beyond the small window and finds himself comparing the messages they had left behind. Heero's note and Yokaze's song. Two different methods to communicate the same concept, almost word for word. Had it been intentional?

He hopes so. Dear whatever-god-there-may-be, he hopes so. Quatre forces his suddenly tense muscles to relax before the shiver he feels building within him can erupt. He clearly recalls a handful of words spoken years ago... clearly understands the potential... clearly realizes that he might be the only one who suspects...

But if even if his suspicions were realized, would that be such a horrible thing?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is why he is having them watched, after all. He cannot allow this situation to develop into something... inconvenient. Not now. Not when he is so close to securing his place in both the Earth and the colonies. Not when he is so close to voicing his promise of happily-ever-after to the woman he loves.

He turns away from the darkness and brushes his cheek against Bisho's soft hair. In silence, he vows that, no matter what the future may bring, he will _never_ relinquish his beloved. Quatre's blue eyes close on a sigh. What he had told her shortly before Heero's arrival had been true: he only formulates a strategy for that which he knows he cannot live without.

_Bisho..._

He tightens his arm around her shoulders and relishes the way she nuzzles blindly into his collar. He savors this moment of warmth and knows that whatever fate awaits him, he will not face it without her.

He thinks momentarily of Heero and Yokaze. He thinks momentarily of his plans. He knows that he will allow nothing to interfere with the latter. _Nothing._

...ooo...

**"I'm sorry** there aren't very many. Most of the pictures were lost with the old house."

The thin, partially filled scrap book lies across their laps. Slowly, they study each image before turning the page. The eyes of the room's three occupants are on their every move. As if the way they move is strange. The brother lifts the next page with his left hand. The sister smoothes it down with her right.

The elderly woman tells them, "Old neighbors and friends–" She offers the sheriff a kind smile. "–were good enough to go through their photographs and give us copies of the ones they'd taken of the two of you."

"And your mother and father, of course," her husband contributes.

They pause in their absorption of the images. One face has caught their attention. Very softly, one of them says, "This is our mother?"

The old woman leans forward to see the photograph. "Oh, yes. That's Leise. She was still in school when that was taken."

For a moment, no one speaks. But then: "How did she die?"

Despite all their research, the Mori children have never been able to find any other information regarding their mother. What little they know had been found after months of tenacious searching. They had not even been able to find Benjiro Mori's personnel file... but then, during the war, much of that Alliance's extensive database had been destroyed.

The old woman leans back into her chair. It is her husband who answers. "It was cancer. You were about two years old, Fiero."

The brother turns the page. The sister tucks it aside. And they pause again. They remember this picture. They stare at their father who kneels with his young son squirming in his arms. His daughter stands beside him with her hand on his shoulder.

"Your mother took that one," the old man says. "It was right before..." He trails off, indicating that Leise hadn't lived for much longer beyond that day. He glances from the girl in the photo to the sister. "I think you knew, Ossia. I think you knew how sick she really was. Although, I know Benjiro tried to keeps things... normal."

"We don't remember," one of them whispers.

The sister trails the callused tips of her fingers over the edge of the photo.

"Well, it was a long time ago... and you were very young," the old woman assures them.

Suddenly, both siblings look up. It's time for some answers. "How is it you know us?"

"And our parents?"

The elderly couple stiffen but the sheriff does not seem surprised by this question... only a little saddened.

The old man says, startled, "Leise was our daughter. Our only child."

The siblings blink. They had not anticipated this information.

"Ah, no wonder both of you were so startled by our greeting..." the old man – their grandfather – muses after seeing their reactions. "It didn't occur to us you wouldn't remember us."

"We... visited you often?"

"With our mother and father?"

Their grandmother sniffs and blinks her eyes, circumventing the appearance of a tear. "Well, yes, there's that," she replies thickly. She pauses for a moment before giving into the temptation to say what she is clearly most concerned about. "Can you remember anything from when your mother and father were alive? Your visits here? Your grandfather and I?"

The siblings search their memories. Their silence is telling.

"Well," their grandmother says with a blatant attempt at levity, "I'd always wished you wouldn't grow up remembering that night... when the rebels attacked and Ben..."

Gently taking his wife's hand, their grandfather whispers in disbelief, "Nothing at all of us?"

They debate how much they can say. They debate how much their grandparents really need to know... how much they _want _to know.

"There was a war," the sister begins.

"We did what was necessary to survive," the brother finishes.

Their grandmother raises a hand to her mouth. Her husband rubs her arm. The sheriff gazes at the siblings in speculation. They see the questions in her eyes but they do not want to hear them. Especially not with their grandparents in the midst of fighting back tears. These few remaining members of their family do not need to think about what surviving a war implies.

"It doesn't matter," their grandfather says finally. "You're both here and you're both alive." He gives them a trembling smile.

Regaining her composure, their grandmother demands shakily, "And you're both staying here with us. We insist."

Together, the brother and sister feel their lips curve into small smiles of acceptance. Pleased that they will be allowed the time to investigate this situation further, they return to their perusal of the scrapbook. The bother turns the next page. The sister folds it down.

**End of Chapter Fourteen**

**Author's Notes:** Maybe it's just me... but Heero and Yokaze are starting to kind of creep me out...


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Observations

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Sixteen: Observations _**

**Taki notices** the way her husband pours his attention over the gobbledygook on the screen. She's mildly intrigued, of course, as she always is. But, the truth of the matter is that she does some of her finest figure-study works when the man is too engrossed to notice. In this way, Taki manages to acquire a perfectly still model who would normally be heaving impatient sighs or twitching convulsively after the first twenty minutes.

The especially fierce and piercing expression he's investing his energies in presently would make a perfect image for their doormat back home, she decides. Perhaps that damn nosy Mrs. I'm-Retired-With-a-Broken-Hearing-Aid would stop dropping by to foist loaves of lumpy zucchini bread upon them.

Bleh.

God forbid they ever leave their front door unlocked or else they might wake up to the horror of their front hall practically sandbagged with the vile stuff.

Apparently, there are some things in this world that even ketchup cannot make edible.

Taki shakes her head at that sad state of the world.

And while she's contemplating sad states, she makes a brief visit to her thoughts on Duo and Trowa. Taki, again, shakes her head. No amount of description can truly capture the stupidity of this situation. Obviously Duo and Trowa had been the ones to fuck up here. And obviously, Heero and Yokaze will come back when they damn well feel like it. Moping around is not going to help; it's only going to mess up her happy honeymoon.

But it's not as if she doesn't feel for the guys. And it's not as if she's not concerned. And it's not as if she hadn't had to deal with her own anger right after they'd left. It's just that with the Yuys, everything has to happen of its own accord. After all these years, Taki has finally found peace with this truism. Of course, that doesn't mean she's going to let either of them get off scot-free for this disappearing act. Oh, yes, a payback of sorts is surely required. But, by her calculations, she still has several days – perhaps even a week – before their return. Plenty enough time to design a doormat.

"Don't you have enough sketches of me?"

Taki looks up and blinks at her husband who is still glaring at the data in front of him. "What makes you think I'm drawing _your_ arrogant ass?" It's best to nip this sort of egotistic behavior in the bud.

She watches him smirk. "So I suppose you're drawing the bookcase behind me?"

"Hey, it could happen."

He snorts.

"Are you ready to take a break and enjoy yourself for a whole minute yet?" she drawls.

His eyes narrow at the screen for a moment before he looks up with a hint of an apology in his expression.

Not waiting for him to make excuses, she demands the truth instead. "What has you so wound up over there, anyway?" The glare she unleashes is partly mocking. "You better not be reading porn, Chang."

He coughs out a soft laugh. "You should know better than to ask."

She merely arcs a brow at him. After a very long, heavy pause, she persists, "So what are you nearly growling at?"

And for the first time in her known memory, Wufei looks nervous. Oh, this is guaranteed to be good. "Well?" she demands.

"It's nothing..." he replies in a gruff voice.

Taki's eyes narrow as she gets the distinct impression that he'd deliberately left something off of the end of that sentence. Something like "... that I can tell you without having to kill you later."

"Wuffers..." she drawls.

He transfers his glower to her and replies flatly, "No."

"Not even a hint, my little love muffin?"

He stares at her with something like abject terror in his eyes before managing, "Absolutely not."

Taki rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. You realize I'll just sneak around behind your back and figure it out on my own anyway, pookie-wookie-snuggle-bear."

He actually fights back the shudder she can sense straining to get out. "You'd better not, Mrs. Chang."

Both her brows arc as that. "Oi, I sure as hell didn't hear of that 'love, honor, and obey' shit going on the other night so you can just fold that glare up and tuck it back in your pocket for when you go back to work." She grins suddenly and adds, "Schnookums."

His sigh is very martyred. "Just tell me what I have to bribe you with to get you to drop this."

Her expression is predatory. Bloodthirsty. "Only the truth will do, pumpkin."

For several seconds, he just stares unhappily at her. Then a certain twinkle enters his eyes and Taki knows he's about to try bargaining with her. Oh, no. So _not_ going to happen. She hasn't had a challenge this good in years. The fact that he isn't even trying to be vague and evasive tells her he's far more preoccupied (translated: _concerned_) over what he's reading than normal.

"Don't even try to bargain for more time, sweetcakes," she declares, forestalling his next words. She sets her sketchbook aside and crosses the room to close the study door and lock it. Turning, she grins at the glare aimed in her direction. Wow, she can almost feel the ends of her hair crinkling in the heat.

"Taki, I cannot tell you."

"We're on our honeymoon," she counters and enjoys his guilty expression. "I will not allow you to be a chauvinistic, overprotective ass for another ten days." She strides purposefully over to the desk and leans toward him. "Spill."

He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Listen to me..."

She snorts.

His glare heats up. "I can't let you try to help me with this–"

"Who said anything about helping you?"

"Wasn't that going to be your next request?"

She pauses and considers that. "Well, maybe. Depends on what it is you're doing in the first place."

The stubborn ass shakes his head. "No. Just–"

"Two words, Chang," she interrupts hotly. "Spousal privilege."

He actually blinks at her.

"Universal law," she reminds him.

He hesitates, wavers.

"Your felony is my felony."

Wufei stares at her in surprise.

Taki grins, very satisfied with herself that she'd guessed right. "So, what's going on?"

Her husband releases a long sigh composed of equal parts defeat and amusement. "Pushy wench," he accuses her and Taki knows she's won. Making herself comfortable on the top of the desk, she leans toward him and – for once – patiently waits for an explanation.

...ooo...

**"Are those your** world-famous sugar cookies I smell?"

The sheriff notices that neither Fiero nor Ossia look up at her entrance into their grandparents' kitchen.

"If you'll help Fiero frost them, you can take a few home with you," the elderly lady promises from where she stands up to her elbows in soapy dish-water.

Almost before she'd finished speaking, the sheriff had started rolling up the sleeves on her uniform. "Beats washing and drying!" she replies happily before wondering out loud as she surveys ground zero, "How does someone so short manage to make such a huge mess?"

In unison, Ossia and Fiero snort once in shared amusement.

Glancing across the room at the kitchen table where Ossia is staring at an antique chessboard, the sheriff asks, "Hey, Oss, aren't you going to help us?"

The old man seated across from her waves a hand at the blond woman. "Hush, you! I've just gotten her to agree to play a game with me and I won't have you distracting her!"

"I didn't know you played chess," she observes but he's too busy studying the board to bother with a reply.

His wife answers, "It's been years since he's bothered." And the sheriff's slight surprise, the old woman chuckles. "Oh, I'm no match for him, dear. None at all."

The sheriff's brows arc.

"He used to compete," the old woman confides with an endearing note of pride in her voice. "Won first place in the Southern France Regionals back in '54."

"I'm impressed." The sheriff quickly washes her hands and reaches for a dish towel. She finally seems to notice how quiet the siblings are and nudges the shoulder of her childhood friend. "Yo, Fiero. Join the party and stop glaring at the frosting bowl."

He blinks, refocusing on the task before him, but says softly, "The bishop."

From the kitchen table, his elder sister replies equally softly, "It's an acceptable risk."

The sheriff frowns at this by-play. Fiero stiffens slightly as the sheriff looks from him to his sister and back again. He does not offer an explanation. He dips the spreading knife into the bowl of powder-blue frosting and begins to paint yet another perfect circle.

"So," the sheriff says a little too lightly, "what did you guys do today? Besides make cookies, anyway."

"Oh! Ossia and Fiero have been so helpful," their grandmother praises. "You know the door to the upstairs bathroom that takes an extra push to get it to shut?"

The sheriff nods as the old woman lists a rather eclectic assortment of odd jobs that their grandchildren had addressed earlier: adjusting the temperature on the hot water heater, reconnecting the wires to a ceiling fan that hadn't worked in years, reinforcing an old rocking chair in the parlor... Once again, the sheriff looks from the brother to the sister and back again. But she does not comment. She asks instead, "You play chess, too, Fiero?"

He nods once.

Unable to be satisfied with that meager response, she persists, "You ever play Ossia?"

One corner of his mouth twitches into an almost imperceptible expression of fondness. "Of course."

She arcs a brow at him. "Ever win?"

"Not lately," his sister replies for him from across the room.

"Is this true?" the sheriff inquires with a teasing grin.

He grunts softly in reply.

"I find it hard to believe as well," the old woman says with a smile. "He is, after all, the great-grandson of a Japan Regional Shogi champion. He _should_ have an equal chance as Ossia as winning..."

"Shogi?" the sheriff echoes with curiosity.

"The Japanese equivalent of chess," the old man says. The sheriff has to smile at the evidence that despite his initial protests of distractions, he can't help contributing to the discussion.

His wife props her fists on her hips and scolds gamely, "For shame! So simple a definition for such a complex game of strategy! If Kiyoshi could hear you say that he'd sic his wife on you!"

"Eh?" the sheriff asks. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her old friend is equally interested in the direction this conversation is taking.

"Kiyoshi and Rie Mori," the elderly woman continues, "were Benjiro's paternal grandparents. From what I understood, they ended up raising him. Kiyoshi was an actual Master of Shogi and his wife, Rie, was a very sought-after instructor of swordsmanship, wasn't she, dear?"

"Mm," the old man mutters.

"Taught Ben everything he knew about strategy and fighting. He was accepted at one of the Alliance's most prestigious academies. Kiyoshi and Rie were so proud of him..."

The sheriff cocks her head to one side and inquires, "So, if Ben was in the military, how in the world did he meet Leise?"

The old man chuckles, reintroducing himself to the discussion. "Would you believe Leise's friends won him for her in an auction?"

"_What?_" the sheriff gasps, doubting his sincerity.

"Oh, it's true, dear," his wife assures her. "Ben had always been a good sport when it came to volunteering his services to the community and whatnot. Right after he'd been stationed in Marseilles, he was asked to participate in a charity auction. The proceeds were to go to the local orphanage. And... well, you can imagine how he must have felt about that, what with his own parents gone. But he was fresh out of the academy and didn't have a thing to donate except, well, himself.

"Leise's best friend was on the charity committee that organized the whole thing and she dragged Leise away from her double bass for the evening. And when Leise's friends saw Ben, they decided she needed an actual night out with a young man, so they bought him."

"Almost lost the bidding, too," the old man interjects. "Ben had been five credits away from spending an evening with the mayor's mother-in-law..." He shudders dramatically.

His wife laughs. "Oh, yes! I'd almost forgotten that!" She grins and shakes her head. "Oh, dear, when I heard Ben tell me about that woman I almost peed my pants I laughed so hard."

The sheriff gasps again. "Listen to you!"

"Well, you would have felt the same," the old woman promises. "There was nothing and no one funnier than Ben when he set his mind to telling a story."

Into this invisible conversation crossroads, Ben's son asks, "So our mother was a musician?"

"Indeed she was," the old man replies. His light tone is at odds with his dark scowl as he studies his granddaughter's latest move. "Won a full scholarship to the Music Conservatory of Nice. Wrote and performed her own music, too."

"And she played the bass," the young man whispers so softly the sheriff almost doesn't hear it. She wonders what special significance their mother's preferred instrument holds for him. She's debating asking him about it when he suddenly flips the knife in his hand into the sink.

"Finished," he announces before turning toward the kitchen table.

"Thank you, Fiero," their grandmother says, not finding it remotely odd that the young man pulls one of the chairs around so that he can sit directly beside his sister. "Why don't you wrap up a few of those to take with you, dear?"

The sheriff comes back to the present with a small, guilty start. "Thanks. Can I use tin foil? That way if my brothers see me with it, I can tell them it's only a plate of stale donuts or something?"

The old woman laughs. At the table, her husband smiles. But the sheriff is watching the siblings and noticing how they seem to be quite content in their own, eerily silent, little worlds.

**End of Chapter Sixteen**

**Chapter Notes:** I've decided to go ahead and include this name list. Just a little FYI.

Mori: (MOR-ee) surname; Japanese origin; literally translates to "forest"

Kiyoshi: (Key-YO-she) male first name; Japanese origin; means "quiet"

Rie: (RE-ay) female first name; Japanese origin; (I couldn't find the meaning)

Benjiro: (Ben-GEE-roh) male first name; Japanese origin; meaning "peaceful" or "enjoy peace"

Leise: (LEEz) a German musical term meaning "soft"

Ossia: (Oh-SEE-ah) an Italian musical term indicating an alternative passage or verse

Fiero: (Fee-AIR-oh) an Italian musical term meaning "bold"


	17. Chapter Seventeen: The Missing

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Seventeen: The Missing _**

**He misses Hero.**

And he knows Duo misses Hero.

_Mission__ accepted._

The little boy's expression is almost fierce as he stalks down the staircase in the dead of the night. He'd waited while Duo and Trowa had talked in the kitchen again. He'd waited until he'd heard the doors to both Duo and Trowa's rooms open and close. And still he'd waited.

Nothing can be allowed to interfere with his mission, after all.

He hops silently from shadow to shadow as he works his way toward his objective, his target.

The huge house echoes with the predawn silence. There aren't even any weird noises coming from Wufei and Taki's room at this hour.

Creepy.

Jaspien takes a deep breath and prepares for his next move. He doesn't let himself think about it too much. He dashes across the hall and disappears into the room with all the books. A library, Duo had called it, but it seems kind of small for a library.

Jaspien dismisses the thought. He's not here for the books. He's here for something far more important.

Still moving as quietly as he can, Jaspien sidles up to the desk and crawls into the chair. He has to sit up on his knees in order to see the keyboard on the vid phone. He stares at the blank screen for several minutes, wary of turning the machine on and attracting attention. But this is the mission. Every mission has some risk.

He pushes the ON button and waits.

And cringes as the welcoming chime rings in his ears and seems to blast through the house.

He doesn't wait for someone to come down and check on him. He has to finish his mission, after all.

He brings up the email server and checks to be sure he's connected to the internet. Quickly, he stabs out his messages with his small fingers. He signs it and sends it.

In another instant, the machine has been turned off and the little boy is gliding his way soundlessly back up the stairs. No one stirs as the door to the boy's room eases open and then shuts in almost unblemished silence. And in the dark, electronic void of the internet, a message waits for a young man who calls himself Heero Yuy:

_Dear Hero,  
__Please come home and help Duo with his smile. It got broke when you went away. I love you. We miss you.  
__Love, Jaspien_

...ooo...

**"Have they talked** about their past yet?"

The elderly woman glances up quickly from the bundle of knitting in her lap and blinks at the sight of the sheriff standing next to her recently mended rocking chair. "Oh my, you startled me..."

The blond woman offers an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

Ossia and Fiero's grandmother indulges a brief chuckle. "I know. If you'd meant to scare me, I'd probably be having a heart attack right now."

"That's not funny," the sheriff admonishes.

"Oh, you're no fun."

The sheriff doesn't argue the point. She takes a seat on a well-padded ottoman and allows her attention to be drawn away. Together, the two women find themselves gazing out the large window at two figures working in the garden.

"Have you managed to get them to have any fun yet?" the old woman hears the sheriff ask.

She shakes her head. "No. They're so... quiet. So..."

"Alone," the sheriff breathes.

"I never would have believed two people could be solitary together."

"It... seems strange, doesn't it?"

The elderly lady transfers her gaze to her young visitor. "What do you mean, dear?"

"I'm... not sure," she admits. "Just that there's something unusual about them."

"Something more unusual than not being able to remember their own childhoods?"

The sheriff blinks at that. Another apologetic smile forms across her lips at the soft rebuke. "I'm not one to judge am I?"

Turning in her chair to better see the young woman's expression, Leise's mother abandons her knitting and settles a hand on the sheriff's slumped back. Rubbing gently between her shoulder blades, she whispers, "You still have the nightmares?"

The woman nods. "Still. Always."

"I'm sorry, dear."

"I know." She forces a trembling smile. "Thank you."

The heavy silence is almost healing – inasmuch as the past can be healed – and the sheriff finds herself mesmerized by the simple, beautiful motions of her childhood friends. Gladly, she focuses her attention on their movements. Movements that seem choreographed. A dance among the roses.

"Amazing," she whispers.

"It is," the elderly woman agrees softly. "I... haven't gotten much work done on this scarf for Fiero. I keep watching them."

"It's like they _know_ what the other is about to do." It truly is a sight worthy of being marveled.

"Perhaps they do," the old woman suggests simply.

This startles the blonde woman. "What do you mean?"

With a shrug, she elaborates, "I can only guess what the two of them have been through together. It must have been a... bonding experience if nothing else."

"Do you really believe that?" the sheriff asks, her investigative nature surging to the fore.

"Does it matter what I believe? They are here. They seem... well, not _un_happy."

The sheriff pauses for a long moment, considering her words. "Do you... would you like me to..."

"To what, dear?"

The sheriff swallows. "I could... check a few things for you," she offers. "If you really wanted to know the truth..."

"Stop, dear. Stop." A gentle hand settles on the sheriff's arm to accompany the whispered request. "Thank–" The elderly woman has to force her own knot of emotion down. "Thank you, but no."

The pain she sees in those tired eyes stops the sheriff from asking if the woman is even a little curious. But it is not for lack of curiosity that she refuses.

"We've only just found them." Her veined hands clench in the partially woven scarf. "And we could lose them so easily. We must trust them. We must love them. And, perhaps, someday they will want to tell us."

The sheriff opens her mouth but then closes it abruptly. Tears shimmer in her eyes. She whispers, "Sometimes I really wish you were my grandmother, too."

"Oh, child..."

A hand rubs warmly along her back. Another grasps her chilled fingers.

"Were I allowed to choose another granddaughter, that woman would be you, dear. She would be you."

The sheriff leans into the embrace and fights back the moisture that blurs her vision. She focuses on the figures beyond the window and lets the rhythm of their seamless operation lull her. In fact, their gentle, accidental dance is so soothing that the sheriff forgets to be wary of such inexplicable grace.

...ooo...

**"How long** are you planning to wait for them?"

Trowa would have smiled at the impatient demand, but he knows the expression would only reveal the depths of his pain. "As long as it takes."

Duo sighs and pours himself another glass of whiskey. "Well, I'm giving Heero one more day to drag his sorry ass back here."

"And then you'll what? Go looking for him?" Trowa predicts on a rolling breath.

Duo glares at the dark chuckle his drinking buddy had almost released. "Yeah," he replies defensively.

"You won't find him."

"Oh, I most certainly will."

Leaning his jaw on one hand, Trowa persists, "And what will you do when you've cornered him?"

Duo grins. He takes a long, unhealthy gulp from the tumbler in his grasp. "Well, I've gotta admit," he says once he's able to speak, "that part's still a bit... open to interpretation."

"You don't know what you'll say?" Trowa inquires mildly, one eyebrow raised.

Duo laughs. "Oh, no. More like I can't decide what to say _first._"

"Hm," Trowa hums in understanding.

"What about you?" Duo asks his equally inebriated companion.

Trowa shrugs fluidly and Duo can't help but appreciate the slightly off-balance, mellow pleasantness that has settled over the usually self-restrained acrobat-turned-investigator. "Can't do anything really before I break into her laptop."

Duo pauses in mid sip and lowers his glass. He gazes at the other man and feels a hint of... warning even through the haze of the alcohol. "Holy shit, Tro. You really do have a death wish."

"I'll never find her otherwise," he predicts and Duo starts to consider trying to hack into Heero's laptop... until he remembers it's still stored somewhere in Heero's room in L2. In fact, he can't recall the last time Heero even used the damn thing... Who's to say any of the data thereon would be of any use to him now?

Duo shares this possibility: "What if you go to all that trouble and you don't even find anything useful?"

Trowa smiles slightly and draws his fingertips around the rim of his sweating glass. "I'll find something. Everything."

Duo eyes him with doubt. "What makes you so sure?"

"I saw it," he replies quietly. "Months ago on the shuttle trip to Earth to find Heero. I saw the folder on the hard drive."

Duo blinks. "Then, uh, why didn't you look through it then, man? Save yourself some grief?"

Trowa barks out a laugh – a hallow, hopeless sound. He says, "She'd just asked me to go on one of her mysterious missions with her. I thought she trusted me." All traces of humor evaporate from him. "I trusted her."

Seeing the onset of grief in the other man's slouching posture, Duo reaches for the bottle between them and tops off both of their glasses. Lifting his tumbler in a toast, Duo proclaims, "Here's to retribution, man."

Soldiering his enthusiasm, Trowa lifts his own brimming glass and clinks the rim against Duo's. "Retribution," he agrees blandly.

"It's the least they can do for us."

"The least," Trowa repeats in an eerie tone.

"I said '_for_ us' not '_to_ us,' Tro," Duo says quickly.

The half smirk returns to Trowa's features. He takes a delicate sip of his ice-and-whiskey cocktail. "Don't underestimate them, Duo."

"Heh. Whatever, dude." He raises his glass and intones sarcastically, "Cheers."

This sends Trowa into a fit of silent laughter. Yokaze's lover lowers his arms and face to the table.

Entertained by this, Duo watches Trowa's quivering shoulders and listens to his muffled mirth. "Man, you are totally doing a one-eighty here. Mental note to self: get Tro plastered more often."

Trowa pushes himself away from the surface of the table and leans so far back in his chair the back seems to be all that's holding him up from falling over backwards. "You just want to take advantage of me, Maxwell," Trowa accuses with a grin.

Duo laughs before summoning up a suggestive leer. "You think so, eh?"

Trowa chuckles. "Oh shut up." He reaches for his own glass and swallows down a bit more of their chosen poison.

"Sure thing, dad."

Trowa almost spits out his alcohol at the jibe.

Duo laughs loudly at the procession of expressions that flicker across his friend's face.

"Fuck!" Trowa hisses when he can. "That shit almost went up my damn nose you bastard!"

And the sound of hearing Trowa Barton, a.k.a. "Mr. Cool," using four expletives in two consecutive breaths, sets Duo off again. In fact, he laughs so hard he lists a little too far to the right and tumbles right off his chair. And this, in turn, renews Trowa's laughter. He slaps the surface of the table with an open palm three times. During this, Duo rolls over onto his back on the cool floor and chuckles dazedly up at the plaster ceiling.

And it is at this precise moment when the kitchen door bursts open and a hastily dressed Chang Wufei gifts them with a severe glower.

"What in the hell do the two of you think you are doing in here at two in the morning!" he demands brusquely.

"Just, ah, hangin' out, Wu," Duo assures him with an unfocused smile. "Pull up a chair and have a drink with us!"

"Go ahead and take Duo's," Trowa invites mildly. "He can't use either where he's gone."

Duo snorts and meets Trowa's gaze. Then, amazingly, the two of them bust into hysterical laughter in absolute unison.

"The both of you are pathetic," Wufei states, striding across the kitchen to collect the remains of the whiskey bottle from the table.

"Newsflash!" Duo crows and Trowa laughs harder.

"This is ridiculous," Wufei grumbles as he dumps the remains of the bottle down the sink and follows it with Duo's half-full but abandoned tumbler.

"Aw... Lookit that, Tro. Wuffers is getting rid of our funny juice like he's gonna take care of us." Duo adopts a sincere, wide-eyed expression and whispers, "Are you gonna take care of us, Wu?"

Trowa crosses his arms over his stomach and attempts to hold his painfully quivering sides in with both hands.

"Shut up, Maxwell," Wufei commands.

"He yelled at me!" Duo observes indignantly from his spot on the floor. "Trowa, sic 'em!"

"Shut... up, D-Duo," Trowa manages between great, silent laughs. "Or... I'm gonna... st-start... hic-cupping like a... damn... drunk!"

"You _are_ a damn drunk!" Wufei roars. "Now off to bed the both of you!"

"Oooh! Trowa, he's sending us to bed... _together_."

Trowa throws back his head and barks out another bout of laughter.

"Damn it to hell, Maxwell! March your sorry ass up those stairs and go to sleep!"

Duo snorts derisively. "Sleep, he says. Yeah, _oookay_."

"Come on, Duo," Trowa says, panting softly from the table. "He's crashed our party."

"Well, we'll just move it then, won't we?" Duo inquires as Trowa makes an unsteady but successful attempt to stand. He waits until Trowa walks around to him and holds out his hands for Duo to take. Duo grins and reaches for him, intent on dragging him down to the floor, too.

"Don't even think about it, junior," Trowa scolds.

Duo laughs. "Aw shucks, Dad..."

"Bed! Now! Both of you!" Wufei snaps.

Trowa rolls his eyes.

Duo bleats, "Meeeyooow!"

Trowa tries to swallow back his laughter but snorts several times instead.

And then strong hands are pulling Duo to his feet and both he and Trowa find themselves being herded up the staircase which sways annoyingly underneath them.

When morning announces its arrival with the delivery of two very nauseating hangovers, neither Duo nor Trowa will remember being shoved onto their respective beds and passing out fully clothed. They will not remember the sounds of their doors slamming behind their aggravated and sober friend. They will not remember having heard the sound of that friend's footsteps moving back toward the stairs rather than further on down the hall. And if they had managed to hear the welcoming chime of the vid phone being turned on, they would not have remembered that either.

They would not be told until much later that downstairs, in the small study, Wufei had just run out of patience. They could not have known their friend had decided it is time for Heero and Yokaze to get back here and clean up the mess Trowa and Duo are making of themselves. And neither of them will be surprised to learn that their friend had felt no remorse whatsoever in sending out the APB on Heero's rental car.

**End of Chapter Seventeen**


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Leak

**Night Wind**

**_Part II – Let the Night Begin_**

**_Chapter Eighteen: Leak _**

**It is only** a small oil leak, something Benjiro Mori's children are fairly certain will only take the first part of the morning to fix. They had rolled out of their bed early, as usual, and soundlessly made their way downstairs. They had paused in the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and then they had snagged the keys to their grandparents' seldom-used, blue sedan and proceeded to the garage. They had only just finished draining the old oil out of the dusty engine when their soft, shuffling silence is interrupted.

"Ah, the dream team, already hard at work," an elderly man with a rusty voice says as he enters the garage. "If both of you keep this up..." He pauses to forlornly shake his head of sleep-tossed hair. "The neighbors'll start spreading rumors about slave labor!"

The siblings regard their grandfather with pleasant expressions. He is a welcome addition to their silence. "We woke you," one of them says.

"Sorry," finishes the other.

The old man waves a hand. "Nonsense. Your grandmother's been after me since last spring to get this garage straightened up... Couldn't do it though until she gave up nagging me about it... Hm..."

The siblings feel their lips pull into small smiles. They return their attention to the car. It's time to replace the faulty clamp and refill the oil reservoir.

For another fifteen minutes, the musty air muffles the sounds of their breaths, the metallic motions of mechanic work, and an old man's intermittent sorting. But then:

"Ah!"

Their grandfather's sound of pleasant surprise forces them to look up. He pulls the faded box in his grasp off of the shelf it had been sitting on and places it on the nearby tool chest.

"I'd forgotten about this!" He smiles at his grandchildren. "Here, here. Come see..."

One of them pauses in opening the first quart of oil. The other leans up from peering at the undercarriage.

Their grandfather sets the box's lid carefully on the cement floor. Gently, the old man lifts out the first item in the box.

"It's the town's weekly newspaper," he tells them. "Back issues. A lot of folk 'round here have copies in storage. When the new library is finished, we'll all be donating them so they can make digital files of them." He pauses for a moment, remembering: "They lost all the archives a few years back when the library caught fire. Arson, they said. Just a bunch of kids." He shakes his head. "Such a waste, really."

But then he seems to rally as his gaze skims the front page of the paper in his hands. "These are all from right around the time when you both stayed with us." Left unspoken are tiny handfuls of words that are assumed easily: _from the time of the attack... after your father died..._

"Some interesting articles in these. Look! This one even shows how downtown used to look. Oh! And here's the old house! This is where your mother grew up. Broke her arm when she was six trying to ski down those steps right there. It was summer but she'd just seen a movie about it and wanted to try it..."

Together, the siblings examine the faded, black and white newsprint.

Their grandfather digs deeper into the box and removes yet another thin packet of small town news. "Ah! And _this _one! This was printed right after your Godfather came for both of you!"

And together, the siblings look up at the old man.

"Our Godfather?"

"Well, of course! He..." Suddenly, the old man stops as his grandchildren's words are understood. Expression now somber, he states, "You don't remember him, either."

They don't protest the assumption.

Turning, their grandfather sinks down onto a grimy stool and sighs. He rubs his dust-powdered hands through his tussled hair. "We – your grandmother and I – had hoped..." The old man fights for the right words. "We thought you'd both been through a lot... Figured that would explain your memory loss, but... well, we'd hoped you hadn't gone through it alone." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You were only children. He was supposed to protect you. Better than we could."

"Who was he?"

He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the weight of his emotions. "Your Godfather? He was Benjiro's best friend. From the academy. Although they didn't see each other much after they graduated... Ben won a commission in the Alliance... don't know _exactly_ what Odin did..."

"What?"

The question is breathed so softly, the old man isn't sure he'd heard it.

"His name..."

"... what was it?"

Their grandfather replies automatically, "Odin Lowe... Why? What do you remember about him? Is he –"

The half-formed question is bitten off when the familiar figure of the town's sheriff opens the side door to the garage. Seeing the elderly man and his two grandchildren, she seems to relax slightly.

"_There_ you are! Breakfast's almost ready." The blond woman turns to the old man specifically. "Your wife sent me out here to collect you. She wants _your_ poached eggs."

With a visible effort, the man switches gears and smacks his lips thoughtfully. "She does, eh? Well, if she's started her strawberry muffins then we might just have a deal..." He straightens from his seat and moves toward the door. But as he passes his grandchildren, he gives each of them a comforting pat. They appreciate the gesture even if they do not say so.

An odd silence trickles into the garage in his wake. The sheriff steps in and allows the door to close behind her. She waits until she hears the old man cross the small yard and enter the kitchen before she speaks.

"Ossia. Fiero." She pauses for a moment before plunging in. "Or do you prefer to be called Yokaze and Heero?"

One of them says, "We were called that before, yes."

The other shrugs as if the names have little significance.

The sheriff continues, "Look, I know you have your share of secrets and then some, but I need to know... Why would someone send out an APB on your rental car?"

They stiffen.

"Are you in trouble? In danger? Do you need help or...?" The sheriff runs a hand over her face in aggravation. "For God's sake, the two of you were my closest friends once upon a time..." She takes a deep breath and tells them straight-out, "You know I've got to report the car, right?"

A determined gleam flashes in her eyes. "I won't ask you to come in with me. In fact, I won't mention you at all. No one's seen you except the three of us," she tells them with a wave of her hand toward that encompasses herself and the house.

In two quick strides, she crosses the distance to the wall and scoops up the keys lying on the nearby shelf. She tosses them toward her friends and tells them, "Take the car if you need to leave." And then she sees something in their expressions... or perhaps in the way the young woman's fingers curl around the keys she'd caught in mid-air. The sheriff guesses, "So it is bad..." She nods sadly. "Then go," she tells them, turning toward the door. "Just... just be careful, okay? You have grandparents and a friend who'd like for you to visit them again." An instant later, the garage door closes once more, leaving the siblings alone.

It's still early when a late-model sedan with a fresh oil change rumbles down the vacant street. There are no witnesses. And thus, all the neighbors will still assume that the garage beside the quaint, two-story house is concealing a mid-size sedan. It will be days before anyone reports it missing... if it is reported at all.

...ooo...

**Wufei stares** at the still-encoded communication files and tries to comprehend the evidence that is staring right back at him.

_This... can't be..._

But it is.

How this could have happened, Wufei does not know. The motivations behind the informant's generosity remain a mystery. In fact, had the informant turned out to be anyone else, Wufei would not be nearly so concerned.

But he is.

And now the consequences of his quiet investigation are so much more severe.

Wufei stares at coding that he is unable to break but able to identify. This pattern – this interweaving of a dozen or more different encoding techniques – has not been used since the war. And even then there had only been time to code and translate a maximum of four per message. But then most of the messages had been short themselves, not like these seemingly detailed reports. Or are they instructions?

His hands fist on either side of the keyboard as he stares at the screen. Someone is influencing Preventer administration. Someone who has the capability to utilize code better than a Gundam pilot.

Five years ago, shortly after the destruction of the L1 rebel base, Wufei would have automatically assumed the informant could be none other than someone who had trained the Gundam pilots. But over the last half decade, Wufei has dedicated himself completely to confirming the deaths or cataloging the existence of anyone and everyone who had ever had a role in the colonial rebellion. Five years ago, he would have suspected one of them. But now...

Now he remembers Heero and Yokaze's strange quietness in each other's company shortly before their hasty departure.

Now he remembers that instant of _knowing_ Quatre was keeping a secret from him.

Now it seems far more likely that the informant he is looking for is not a _creator_ of the Gundams and the pilot-training programs at all.

Very unhappy, Wufei is forced to admit the unpleasant truth: In this day and age of peace, there are very few people who are capable of creating a code that a former Gundam pilot can't crack. In fact, an unbreakable, intricate code such as this one could only have only come from one source: _another _former Gundam pilot.

Wufei glowers at the screen and considers his three suspects, all of them close friends. Perhaps he does not have the level of objectivity needed for this investigation, but if he does not follow through with it, he's fairly sure no one will.

In the midst of taking a deep, centering breath, the vid phone beeps. Quickly channeling his attention toward it, he picks up the line and greets the unfamiliar face of a fair-haired woman. She introduces herself as the regional sheriff of a small town in southern France before telling him something that will decide which of his suspects he will pursue first:

"Agent Chang, we've located the Yuys' rental car..."

...ooo...

**Two figures** lie in the middle of the large hotel bed. Their clothes are wrinkled. Their hair is wind-blown. The comforter on which they rest with their backs pressed tightly together is scratchy against their faces. But they do not sleep.

In the darkness, a whisper emerges: "My enemies are the ones who are after my life."

And in the darkness a confirmation is offered: "They are the ones who toy with my life."

They will identify the enemy.

They will formulate a plan.

They will eliminate this threat at all costs.

**End of Chapter Eighteen**

**End of Part II**

**Author's Notes:** Yes, it's the end of Part II but don't worry. I'm not done with the story yet! Heero and Yokaze's sudden weirdness is about to be explained in Part III. I can't guarantee that you'll like it, but it _will_ be there. I'm also debating adding an Intermission next. If I do, it'll be within the week.

**Thank You's:** Again, I want to thank anissa32 and Stacey for their lovely reviews. You guys totally rock. I wish I could assuage your curiosity and give you a few hints... but you wouldn't want me to ruin the surprise would you?

**Announcements:** I'll be moving overseas within the next two weeks so don't be alarmed if you don't see any updates before June 2005. I haven't forgotten or died or anything. In all likelihood, I'll be awaiting a DSL hookup in my new place.


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